John kept detailed notes in his tour itinerary, listing details of all the cities and shows, people met, observations, phone numbers and contacts, this time determined to savour the memories of life on the road, fearful of the tour passing in a blur of faces, planes and tour buses- but he has lost it.

Seattle was good. Four days in one city. A couple of vegan coffee shops and a good vegetarian option in the Space Tower, where John and I enjoyed a wine fuelled break from the rigours of Steve's acoustic US tour. That day the clouds had come in from the ocean, giving the impression of dining in a high altitude jet : the room was literally spinning, so John had to wait 47 minutes before he saw his faithful brolly again, placed carefully in Hackett style on a shelf next to our table before he realised the room was revolving. There was no gig that night - a rare break from a punishing schedule - and I have rarely seen John as exhausted, too tired to sight-see, just resting up before shows, trying to conserve as much energy as possible. A huge Seattle highlight- apart from the show- was our trip to The Barking Lounge-a kindergarten for dogs close to our hotel. Steve was very keen to go and John reluctantly tagged along to humour me. Strangely enough, Steve had had a vivid dream the night before about talking dogs, so somehow the visit seemed to make perfect sense, talking to dogs, fantasising about which ones we'd like to take home and feeling pity for the nervous or ignored. Everyone was furnished with a souvenir T shirt and even John seemed energised by the experience.

The gig was at a very well run and ritzy dinner-and-show venue called The Triple Door in Downtown Seattle. The pre- show meal had an impressive vegetarian option and the service was great, although we were given a table bang in front of the stage and it was slightly awkward to be asked about desserts mid-way through one of Steve and John's more intense artistic moments. They say they didn't notice. Roger was clearly inspired by the cabaret setting and partook in savage, razor sharp banter with Steve. The meet and greet was very uplifting, so many politely waiting in line to speak to Steve, John and Roger. Some had brought gifts for Steve; many had travelled great distances and most had a story to tell. No one mentioned the re-union rumours, so no difficult moments. A very friendly guy offered to send me photos of his scuba-diving holiday, which duly arrived at my address in London. Thank you! Steve acquires piles of gifts throughout a tour,including countless CD's. I recall a similar situation, backstage atthe Festival Hall, when a young John Hackett handed JamesGalway a demo of his flute playing. He heard nothing, but now at least I appreciate the sheer volume of CD's handed over to successful musicians. The boys' manners were impeccable as they chatted to everyone, despite feeling absolutely knackered. John does not want me to mention the Hooter Girl episode... and I'd liketo forget the guy who demanded money on our walk home from Chinatown..

Portland was a bit of a strange one. The venue was like something out of The Last Picture Show- an old cinema on the edge of town that had perhaps seen better days. The backstage area was basically like a small flat, festooned with hanging scarves and sofas covered in Indian prints- reminiscent of our friend Barbara's flat in the 70's, above the garage in Turnham Green. I felt this could be someone's home - we never saw who- and they had made great efforts to make the place 'band friendly'. Were they hiding in that locked cupboard? The atmosphere was very soporific and Steve managed to have a sleep before the show. John was interviewed by a local journalist and Roger buried himself in a book- the title escapes me. It's always tactful- and the art of a good ligger- to make one's backstage exit in good time before curtain up, so I left to hang around the bar, watching faces, wondering whether I should be pushing Checking Out of London on the merchandise stall. This was a disappointing turn-out compared to Seattle, although the atmosphere was lifted by a very loud guy who kept shouting out to Steve about the 'old days'. For some reason 'security' cleared the auditorium rather quickly, therefore no meet and greet and some disappointed fans making their way into the Portland night. The boys had played really well but were too tired to see the town- despite the adrenalin rush- and John Wood, the noble tour manager, wanted us to leave for the airport at 5.30 am. I grabbed a cab to show me the sights- then it was back to the hotel next to the freeway, where the porter said he was a doctor from London who helped Lady Diana give birth. Where in London? Plymouth. Steve was not amused when Roger King's keyboard came sliding at great speed down the luggage chute at San Francisco airport, crashing loudly onto the carousel. We stared at each other, wondering whether this was an omen for a bad gig....

Next: San Francisco and Los Angeles ...