With five-and-a-bit weeks’ worth of roadside junk food fat collected in our veins and no longer able to keep track of what day of the week it is, we retreat temporarily into that mysterious haze of whatever it is bands do when they’re not touring… writing songs, lounging in dressing gowns, reading books of dubious philosophical content, producing several pads’ worth of meticulous notes and inventories of the events of the past 24 hours… to be honest, that was actually frighteningly accurate.

This year’s visit to Austin for SXSW was a traumatic event of biblical proportions. We had our first proper encounter with soulless, conveyor-belt style press & interviews, we severely jeopardised a show by leaving our keyboard next to a bin hours before but miraculously recovering it last minute; and we had way too many omelettes. The high points were probably playing at the Presbyterian church and having the whole crowd suddenly stand up in the pews for the last song, as if for a hymn, and the night we got back to our out-of-town Austin hotel by means of a London black cab (long story).

Sleepless,

Simon x