Another early start, the next day. Everyone piles on the bus for the journey over to Berlin, and in between sleeping, eating, and listening to the avant-garde classical music that trombonist Mike has put on the stereo, life settles into a motorway routine. You wait backstage, wait on the bus, always waiting. The conversation veers from mundane to downright surreal. I offer Jimi some crisps.
Fresh food is good.
Sushi is even better. And rubbish microwaved junk food is no good at all. Mobile phones get similarly short shrift. Sugar Daddy,' a gothic synth stomp has a tale bubbling under the surface. Also a friend of mine was doing phone sex with some mafia guy.