Motorway Cafés and Empty Rooms: A Mini-Tour Diary

A mini-tour is mostly not gigs. It’s the bit between: the 6am alarm, the motorway services, the fifth cup of tea, the empty room where you sing to a sound engineer named Dave and a poster of a lost dog. I have just come off a short run of UK shows — Leicester, Sheffield, Bristol, Cardiff — and honestly, the spaces between the songs were as interesting as the songs themselves.

Here is what happened, in the order it happened.

Monday: Leicester, rain, and a Wetherspoons breakfast

The first day of any tour starts with admin. I packed the van in the rain, forgot my good plectrum, and bought a replacement from a shop that also sold fishing tackle. The drive up was grey and steady. We stopped at a Wetherspoons just off the ring road because it was the only place open before 11am. I had beans on toast and watched a man read a racing paper with tremendous seriousness.

The venue was a small arts centre with a sticky stage and a brilliant piano. Soundcheck took ages because the monitor desk had a sense of humour. We ate chips from a paper bag on the steps. By doors, the room was full of familiar faces and a few people who had clearly come in out of the rain. That is the best kind of audience.

Tuesday: The M6, Tebay Services, and a van that smells of crisps

Long drive day. The M6 is a character in its own right. We stopped at Tebay Services, which is the only motorway services I have ever described as ‘lovely’. I had a sausage roll and looked at the fells. The van smelled of salt and vinegar crisps and a diffuser someone gave me that was supposed to smell like cedar but mostly smelled like a dentist’s waiting room.

I wrote a verse in the passenger seat. It was about service stations, obviously. Something about how everyone is briefly nobody in a Costa at 3pm. I might keep it. It might be terrible. That is the deal.

Wednesday: Sheffield, soundcheck, and the quiet before doors

Sheffield was a converted chapel with high windows and a floor that creaked in a good way. Soundcheck is my favourite part of the day. The room is empty. The lights are half on. You can hear what the space wants to do with your voice.

I always ask for a longer soundcheck than I need, just to sit in the quiet. Dave the sound engineer made me laugh by describing a reverb setting as ‘like a cave, but polite’. The gig itself was warm and close. Someone requested an old song I had forgotten how to play, and we muddled through it. I think that was the best bit.

Thursday: Bristol, a broken pedal, and a room that sings back

Bristol was the one where things went slightly wrong. My tuner pedal died during the first song. I did the thing where you pretend to be tuning by ear while actually pressing every button on the board and hoping. The audience was very kind. A man in the second row offered me a spare battery from his bag. That is UK gigs in a nutshell: mildly chaotic, fundamentally decent.

The room had a natural reverb that made the quiet songs feel enormous. I played a new one about the drive home. It went down well, or at least nobody threw anything.

Friday: Cardiff, chips, and the long drive back

Last show. Cardiff was rainy and bright and the venue was above a shop that sold records and incense. I bought a second-hand CD for the van. We ate chips on a bench and watched seagulls argue.

The gig was sweaty and loud and lovely. Afterwards, I signed a few posters and met a couple who had driven from Swansea. They told me they had listened to my last record on the way. That is the sort of thing that makes the motorway miles worth it.

What I Learned (and What Might Help You)

If you are coming to an intimate UK show this autumn or winter, here are a few small things I have learned from the other side of the stage.

• Check the venue’s stage times on the day. Small rooms can run early or late, and the internet is not always right.
• Bring a friend if you can. It is easier to stand in a room full of strangers when you have someone to whisper to.
• The merch desk is not scary. We are usually bored and delighted to talk to you.
• Quiet songs are not a test. You do not need to know every word. Just be here.
• If you see a pedal board, do not step on it. Not even a little bit.

Most of all, I learned that the spaces between gigs are where the songs come from. The service stations, the soundchecks, the empty rooms at 5pm. That is the tour. The gig is just the bit where we all get in a room together and try to make something out of the quiet.