This blog is late, as are 25% of them seemingly, and yet I have no excuse. I haven’t been  partying, I haven’t been working. All I’ve done most of the last week is go to the gym early, walk approximately 4km, and then if I’m home and in my pjs by lunch I call that a successful day!

Things are quiet. Things are good. Things are a lot different from 3 weeks ago when I got a telling off in the middle of France by  someone I’d actually listen to.

“This isn’t you,” he said.

“Are you giving me a ‘dad” talk?” I asked.

“Yes. You need it.”

“This isn’t you,” he continued. “Well, it is you. You’ve still got a heart of gold and you’d do anything for anyone, but you’re acting like one of the lads without having any lads around.”

I knew what he meant. I’d blazed my way across Europe, getting into stupid, silly, and wild situations that I haven’t covered in these blogs. (Apologies, dear reader, but have no fear, these adventures are documented and will see the light of day just as soon ss I really can’t surprise my mum anymore).

“I’ll love you and will always work with you ,” said my friend, “but I toured with you all last year and you were different.”

“Things were different last year,” I said. Last year I was happy, I didn’t say.

“All the drugs,” he said. “The girls…you’re punishing them because of someone else.”

“I’m not punishing them,” I said. “I’m punishing myself.”

He looked at me hard, and then he agreed.