Tour Diary - Day Four

Twickenham – Max and Clair's House
 
Yesterday was the first of our two days off on this two-week jaunt around the country. And we kicked things off like fucking Mötley Crüe by doing laundry and eating leftover meringue. Katie kindly and perhaps unwisely left us to our own devices in her lovely house, and I whiled away the hours bashing my head against a new song that just won’t reveal itself (needs a meaty final line in the chorus, and all my brain had to offer was chaff) and chatting to my publishers about various upcoming collaborations. We generally shoveled coal into the engine of professional musicianship under the beautiful Surrey sunshine.

Move over, Nikki Sixx. The big boys have arrived.
 
Eventually it was time to leave, and we loaded up the tour wagon for the trip into the capital. We drove in far enough to get a tube, and Louis hopped out to go and have a solo London adventure while I parked up at my brother’s house in Fulham before racing to the south bank to meet my old mate Freddy Syborn. On the way I decided to amuse myself by taking surreptitious photos to add to my “People who look like members of The Family” collection, which I include here for your enjoyment.

Here we see a portly Tom Webber

And a crumpled Chris Hunsley

And a couple of Ellie and Tash Hair-alikes. 
Feel free to send in your own submissions.
 
Eventually I got to the South Bank and met Freddy. Fred is one of my oldest friends and is the ascendant sitcom writer who was responsible for my ten seconds of lute-smashing glory in ITV’s Cockroaches earlier this year. He is also the man behind my various collaborations with Jack Whitehall over the years. He is a beautiful man. We caught up over hot dogs then rushed to the BFI for a screening of Some Like It Hot, which I had never seen before. The BFI is a wonderful place. Every single person there looked like the Modern Parents in Viz, all polo necks and well-stroked goatees under their horn-rimmed spectacles. In their honour, we eschewed the gallon of pepsi and kilo of nachos in favour of Virgin Marys and Truffle Popcorn and sat down for the movie.
 
I am now in nine different shades of love with Marilyn Monroe, and shall inevitably write some gushing songs about her that I hope no-one ever hears.
 
Back to bro’s, sleep on sofa, end.
 
The next day I peeled myself from the couch and sat around in a general malaise for a long time, drinking extravagant coffee and perving at grand pianos on the internet. Eventually I couldn’t take the boredom and met up with Louis, fresh from a wholesome day of gallery-trawling, on the New Kings Road. We wandered around for a couple of hours, nibbling passing sandwiches and sipping macchiatos like seasoned louche timewasters. All this excitement culminated in me falling asleep on a bench outside the Saatchi gallery, while Louis sat watch over me like a mother lion. 

Glam Tramps 
 
Nap done, we rejuvenated ourselves with ice cream and set off for our date with Max and Clair at their house in Twickenham.

There it is. Magnum. 
 
Max is an old school-friend of Louis’, and he had kindly agreed to host a stop on this tour after our previous London date had fallen through. We were welcomed into his house in a flurry of pizza and Max and his fiancée Clair made us feel right at home. The rest of the guests arrived and we piled into the sitting room to crack into it.
 
This was an unusual gig for us. All the other hosts on the trip have been long-time followers of either Louis or myself, and therefore are pretty well versed in the sort of thing we do, pelting us with requests, singing along to their favourite bits and generally being awesome. These lovely folks on the other hand were complete strangers to our work, and had invited us in out of kindness, curiosity and a general sense of fun. So the pressure was on to create a good impression. But the sort of people who would invite a couple of strange musicians into their home are not the kind of people to shrink from a good time, and they sang, clapped and laughed along with us as we played. At their request, we even dusted off My Little Lusitania as a duet (our first since our Mamma Mia Singstar battle in Brighton), a song which we have never properly performed together, let alone rehearsed. It was wonderful fun, and we set off back to London with gleeful grins, our hearts bobbing contentedly in a sea of human kindness.
 
Thanks Max & Clair!


 
Next stop: NORWICH

Read Louis' account of proceedings HERE

1 comment

  • Sarah

    Sarah Taunton

    Really enjoying reading about your antics. I was soundly riddled by the Mad Hatter yesterday who bore a spooky resemblance to your good self. Sadly I have no pictures, no offence meant. Then two walking bushes attacked me. They kept messing my hair up, and despite cries for them to stop, they only did so when I finally realised they were miming being dragged through a hedge backwards. No drugs or alcohol involved, Tauntons Summer festival showcases local talented actors, dancers, singers and street artists. You and Louis would have fitted right in.

    Really enjoying reading about your antics.
    I was soundly riddled by the Mad Hatter yesterday who bore a spooky resemblance to your good self. Sadly I have no pictures, no offence meant. Then two walking bushes attacked me. They kept messing my hair up, and despite cries for them to stop, they only did so when I finally realised they were miming being dragged through a hedge backwards.
    No drugs or alcohol involved, Tauntons Summer festival showcases local talented actors, dancers, singers and street artists. You and Louis would have fitted right in.

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