We’re on the Eurostar going home now. We managed not to miss our final train, which makes it 14 out of 14, plus assorted trams, tubes and busses. There were a couple of very near misses: Cara forgot her passport for the Vienna/ Berlin leg (although we never needed it) and I misjudged a breakfast which led to us runjogwalking past interminable carriages carrying cars, balancing four drinks, three bags, two instruments and a suitcase between us. Last night’s gig with Sparky in the Clouds felt like a fitting finale. Upstairs, Au Chat Noir was a typical Parisian bar...

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The first girl on the bill was almost inaudible above the hubbub of chat. Which was a shame – her songs were interesting, skilfully crafted, very much her own creation. That’s not necessarily the rule – if you go to a lot of small gigs you hear a lot of singing and songwriting which is safe, familiar, forgettable. But she was good, and beautiful too with big blue eyes that widened incredulously when one particularly noisy lady with red hair whooped and yelled in the quiet bits. Odd. Maybe it’s borne of having had a run of gigs but...

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