I took a trip to Manchester with Francis, when he went to see Laura Cantrell sing. 'You do really cool things,' said a friend. I thought it would be an exciting getaway: say, pre-gig dinner in a cool urban eatery...a sparkling gig, then a funky hotel with snowy towels and sheets?
Yes, kind of. And what about: motorway service stations, Sat Nav insanity, cold, smelly dressing rooms in the student union, four hours sleep with toga-wearing hen parties yelling for their f-ing pizzas at 4am?
'That's touring, hen', said Francis. He's right. I wouldn't last five minutes.
Turn off Sat Nav and drive directly to Comfort Zone. Know your strengths and stay there, she tells herself , next morning, as she notes her wrinkles in the mirror.
Lovely Laura, meanwhile, gave it everything and the crowd lapped it up.
It was great to see the kids again, when we came home.
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