That's the West Country, for the uninitiated (Eddie "RIP North Bridge" Coate taught me the hand gesture) - although interestingly, the other WC was heavily involved in the events of this weekend by virtue of last night's somewhat stonking curry. Enjoyed with former housemate "Geoffrey the Beffrey", this particular Spice Magic return transported me to new levels of joy, pain and toilet - levels which continue even now, some 24 hours later.

But let's back up - this was a trip to Exeter, to a music festival at the Double Locks pub. It wasn't something I was looking forward to. I've done a lot of travelling lately, I'm not feeling great about my live material (FaceOmeter is now officially on haitus pending new songs), I had no particular personal investment in the gig, there's a lot of other more mundane stuff happening to me right now, the previous evening had been pretty shit, and so forth. The day dawned grey with flecks of autumnal rain and the walk to the train station in Oxford proved dispiriting, with insufficient time to procure a sandwich before boarding.

But clearly I still have not learned the teachings of Five Figs Down. The party isn't over until the vibe says so. After two days of river walks, cosy mill visits, video games, dogs, the moon, food, drink and good people, I am returned re-energised for the coming days. A guy on Queen St wanted a high five from me, and didn't get one. An incredibly drunk middle-aged woman wanted me to dance to a brilliant Dad Rock band playing Rolling Stones covers, and may have been marginally more successful (she then pretended to go down on me before throwing up and passing out, and I wish I could say that that was the most alarming thing that's happened to me lately). Geoff and I pissed in a river, the Let's Do café was visited, and I was gloriously reunited in Exwick Mill itself with Jess "Buttercup" Maidment and a piano.

The technical burps were the return journey (Sunday, trains, Britain, don't, not ever) and the PA (adminstered with enthusiasm if not ability by a man who certainly wasn't called Jarvis). I solved the first by learning lots about the scientist and musician William Herschel (1738-1822) and the second by playing unamplified whilst standing on a table in the pub beer garden, depicted (by Geoff's iPhone, la de da), thus: