October 2016 Tour Diary - Day 5 - London

At 1pm Meg and I meet in a Battersea TV studio to film an acoustic performance and brief interview for a cable channel. 

Megan's just back from her whirlwind solo tour which took in Glasgow, Manchester and Nottingham in as many days and is severely sleep deprived. She nurses coffee with blackened eyes and a pained expression.

Deeply vain baldyman guitarist, sans hat

Deeply vain baldyman guitarist, sans hat

The waiting room contains sandwiches, drinks and a nice lady whose job is to make us up for TV. "Can you make me look less tired?" Megan asks her. My turn comes and I consider the craggy mug staring sullenly back at me from the dressing room mirror. "Can you make me look about 60 years younger?"

Regular readers of this blog may recall The Meg's indecent delight the last time I suffered the indignity of being made up, when we played for JJ Abrams at the Oscar Wilde Awards in LA. Sure enough, no sooner have I sat in the chair than further sniggering breaks out behind me. She has whipped out her phone and is merrily documenting my discomfort for the benefit of all future generations FOREVER on the internet.

What comfort for the few survivors of the coming nuclear apocalypse to at least have a record of the Old World Left Behind in the form of a picture of me having skin coloured cream plastered all over my shiny pate. 

At the end of the interview, Megan is asked to film some idents for the show - "Hi, I'm Megan O'Neill and you're watching Country Sessions" - in front of the imitation barn of wooden pallets that forms the set. Alas it's flimsier than the illusion of TV would have you believe, and in accidentally brushing against it she comes within a whisker of bringing the whole thing down on top of her. 

I reflect that the ident would have been much more in keeping with our slack-jawed hillbilly aesthetic if she had said "Hi, I'm Megan O'Neill and you're watchi-" before being engulfed in pallets like a collapsing saloon bar in the old Wild West. 

Megan finds this less funny than I do.

View from Courtyard Theatre stage. Y'all look lovely.

View from Courtyard Theatre stage. Y'all look lovely.

The night's hometown gig in Shoreditch's Courtyard Theatre is sold out, hot and sweaty, and we have a pretty damn good time. Meg's been making a point of getting the crowd to sing along with the "spare a thought for the refugee" line at the end of Devil And The Deep and they all need no encouragement tonight. 

Various Threads girlfriends and fiances are in attendance along with some of my family and a few drinks are consumed. We crash at Tom's in Putney to get a head start for the trip to Cardiff tomorrow. 

One (UK) night left...