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because "the tour's a dream" that that necessitates publicising it is essentially easy. Whilst it's true that you don't exactly have to cajole or coerce the media to meet Paul and/or Linda, the job requires you to do without what others might consider life's essentials - like sleep.
            The medically-recommended eight hours' kip a night, for instance, tends to go on the back-burner now that Chris Whitten has become the tour's radio star.
            Young Master Christopher, as The Boss calls him, has invented his own publicity niche - after the first gig in most towns he likes to invade the studios of the hippest local radio station to chat on the air, taking phone-calls from fans, talking about the gig and playing his favourite records.
            It's no problem, unless you like your zzzzzzs; because invariably Chris never gets on the air until way past midnight and rarely leaves a station before 2 a.m., by which time you wanna eat - try finding fast food gone midnight for two vegetarians in the middle of Atlanta - and then return to the hotel and insist that everybody else stays awake to hear what a good time you've had.
            By the time we've bent Robbie 'Night Owl' Mclntosh's ear to the point when he's pleading 'will you please just go to sleep?', it's gone 5 a.m.And despite our invariable protest that "it's too late now to go to bed early", we reluctantly shuffle off knowing that we're left just three hours for sleep before you're up hammering at the wordprocessor, compiling the facetious tome known as The Tour Newsletter.
            This was another invention of Mac's; a daily digest of reviews, interview schedules and tour gossip that means nothing whatsoever to anyone who is not part of the 100-odd rock and roll circus party.
            Around 9.30, when you're tearing hair out for the lack of something amusing to write in the Newsletter, the 'phones start ringing.
            It's the Boston Bugle - or whatever - Fiona, they say, has given them permission for an interview with Paul at 6.30. Impossible, you say, there's 5 radio stations slotted in around then. Check with Fiona. Fiona has said nothing of the sort. Phone back the Bugle; sorry, it can't be done today. Listen to the Bugler explain for 17 minutes why you are personally destroying his life/career/marriage/mortgage and say how ungainly it is for grown men to cry (I kid you not, we've had middle-aged men break down in tears on this tour when we've had to break the news that an interview is out of the question for lack of time).
            Twelve similar calls later and you're at the venue for more logisitic juggling - how are you going to fit in two TV interviews with Paul, a radio and a magazine chat with Linda plus a newspaper interview with Hamish and Wix when there's only one interview room available? Somehow - a nightly amazement to me - Fiona manages it and then there's just a few minor problems to combat; like seven TV crews arriving to film the show's first number when we only agreed space for five.
            But, hey, who's complaining? It's tiring, yes. It's demanding, uh-huh. But during every show I watch the critics bop and clap and generally look like they're kissing God through cotton-wool. It's good to be a small part of that.

Geoff Baker

Club Sandwich 54