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I've just spent the last month touring the UK (plus two nights in Paris) with my friends Clive Gregson and Rob Peters. In the old days when I wasn't so keen on touring, my band the Bible would regularly play to a thousand people. These days a hundred is a good turnout. We have played little theatres, art centres, the back rooms of pubs and a village hall. We have no roadies now, which means I have to carry my own guitar. And that isn't really so hard. We still stay in hotels mind. For thirty pounds a night and with the help of a good rock and roll travel agent you can stay in four star places. For twenty-five pounds a night you can stay in the most horrible B & Bs imaginable. Like the one in Manchester a couple of years ago. I was given a towel at reception (I'm not sure why this upset me but it did), my wardrobe collapsed in the middle of the night and there was blood on the front door step the following morning. This year we stayed in a lovely Thistle just round the corner. Clive and Rob took turns driving. I can drive but passengers prefer it if I don't. Rob, who is our percussion player, is also the support act. He plays guitar and sings his own songs for half an hour before we go on. We sell our own CDs from a table at the front of the stage and Clive is TM (tour manager; i.e. gets us paid). When I wasn't keen on touring the band could play to loads of people and after paying the road crew, the merch man (T-shirt selling person), the agent, the manager etc we'd lose money. These days on a good night I can make a modest killing.

Two days before the start of the tour, Clive flew in from Nashville. He lives there with his American wife Nancy. He's been there for seven years now and apart from occasionally saying yadda yadda yadda (which I think is American for blah blah blah) his Mancunian tones remain entirely uninfected. As well as twenty of our own dates there were four gigs with Eddi Reader. I've been playing in Eddi's band for the last six years. Clive on the other hand sees Eddi only very occasionally. The first date was straight in at the deep end. We had to drive to Penzance via London and Aldershot (picking up CDs and Rob) which is a very long way, to play a gig entirely unrehearsed. At the packed Acorn theatre we winged it. With Eddi there are never any setlists. Several times during the evening Clive found himself jetlagged and playing songs he'd never heard before in his life. The next time we'd see Eddi was in ten day's time in Aberdeen.

In the morning the benefits of touring become apparent. It is in fact a paid holiday. After breakfast in a very odd hotel (having Nelson's deathmask gurning down at you can put you off your Frosties I can tell you) we tootled over to Land's End. Then a leisurely drive to Birmingham, where Rob lives, for our first night off. We treat ourselves to an evening of pink sparkling wine and Eurovision - decadent, I know. On Sunday morning we rehearse for a couple of hours in the delightfully named Rich Bitch practice rooms. Later it's on to Manchester Uni. for the first gig of the tour proper. In front of exactly one hundred people we play rather well. Our friend Chris Leckie lives up the road in Liverpool and comes over and does our sound for nowt. He normally works with famous people and consequently knows how to make us sound fantastic. Over the course of the tour he is able to 'do' us four times. For his pains we present him with a foot high stainless steel nutcracker fashioned into the shape of a squirrel. But of course. Sean the promoter has been a fan for years and even though he has lost money on us tonight invites us back anytime. It's this kind of thing you really come to appreciate.

Next day Southampton. (Later in the tour we have a similar three days of route madness. Namely; Perth, London, Middlesborough.) Here, in a lovely little lottery-funded venue we draw a very select (or small) crowd. Every other act on the posters is either an ex-popstar or a tribute band. It's how it is these days, very few new young bands doing the rounds. Last year Clive's friend Denis, who used to be the singer in Dr Hook (not the one with the eyepatch) was playing around the UK. At one venue he noticed hat there was a Dr Hook tribute band playing the week after him. Their tickets cost £3 more than his. How ironic.

Now we're in the bubble. Tewkesbury; a lovely midlands town. A beautiful abbey. A very large theatre, oh dear. To an enthusiastic quorum we ply our trade. Leicester; a sell out! In a fantastic fourteenth century guildhall, that we could have filled twice over, we have our first truly top-notch gig of the tour. Why did it sell out? Good promoter. Next, Blaxton village hall. Not as bad as it sounds. Excellent PA, full house and a very nice guy promoting. Andy is a steelworker who sells birdseed on the side and puts on folk gigs. I don't think there are many people who could say they do that.

York Fibbers. Lovely people, terrible sound system. Actually one of my favourite places to play. A good pop-quiz machine and probably the best sandwiches all month. Whitley Bay. We arrive to see either Robson or Jerome (I don't know which is which I'm afraid) using our venue to film a detective series. Extras trying to look natural. A scary sight. A huge place that we don't actually fill to bursting point. My cousin comes from Durham. Until tonight I think he thought I was a rock star. We play our best gig of the jaunt so far.

Two more dates with Eddi. Aberdeen Lemon Tree and Perth Festival. Both have been sold out for weeks. This is a little humbling. I've spent a lot of time this tour thinking about how hard it's been getting people out to watch Clive and I. The Aberdeen show is, I feel, a little sterile and chaotic. Afterwards, though, people are coming up to me and saying it's the best thing they've heard for ages. Perth on the other hand is one of the finest performances I've ever seen her do. Before we went on Eddi kept changing her mind about what we were going to play. This meant borrowing guitars from locals, ditching all the electric numbers and a world class headache. I wasn't hopeful, but she was fantastic.

Boo Hewerdine, with inky drawings by Mr Clive Gregson

Clive and I fly down from Glasgow to Heathrow where we meet Rob and head off to Ronnie Scott's. The culture shock of going from genteel Scottish town to nasty old London is underlined when I see a panic stricken tourist who's obviously just had her bag snatched. Our friend Chris Leckie has flown down from Liverpool to mix our sound. This seems a bit flash until he explains that his return ticket cost a tenner. I like Ronnie's. Stuart the promoter (who knows Damien Hirst), the staff wearing shades indoors, the sarky guy on the door; all very Soho. It's a great gig until a drunk in the audience decides that I look like Rick Wakeman and Clive resembles Phil Silvers. This makes for a top heckle - but not after every song. I'm sure the guy (who was a teacher) thought he was being hilarious but it started to spoil it a bit for us. I got my hair cut as soon as I could, sadly Clive didn't have that option.

Next day up early to drive to Middlesbrough. Today we're being Eddi Reader's band at an open-air festival. Of course it rains. Watching the soaking crowd sing and sway along as we sing "patience of angels" makes it all worth while though.

Back to our own gigs. Today we're in Chester. Telford's Warehouse is a lovely venue with a view of the canal. As we play we see a gorgeous sunset behind the crowd. I think we may have had a better view than they did. In attendance is Ian Gomm. As a bit of an anorak I'm excited to meet the man who co-wrote "Cruel to be Kind" with Nick Lowe.

In Liverpool we play in the new Lomax club. The old Lomax was scruffy but much loved. Now it's been relocated and it's shiny and new and frankly a bit vast for the likes of Clive and I. Still, with Leckie at the controls (our last show with him) we do a pretty good turn. After the gig people gather round our little CD shop/table. "You got to keep going," says one woman. "Thanks" I reply, "It's either that or obliviation" she observes. How very true.

Morecambe. The Platform used to be the station but is now an impressive if slightly echoing venue. To an audience of about fifty (apparently one of the better turnouts this year) we do our stuff. The local sound guy says he enjoyed it a lot more than the Swedish folkdance troupe who'd been on last week. High praise indeed.

Home. A day off. The big drag with touring is missing the family. I have two kids (a twelve-year-old daughter and a lad of five) and it doesn't get any easier. We were meant to stay in Brum tonight but I jump on a train back to Cambridge to see them. It's worth it.

Today is Sunday June 3rd and we're doing two gigs. Basingstoke at lunchtime in the foyer of the Anvil theatre and Bromley in the evening. Doing two shows in a day feels very odd. After a gig you just want to pack up the gear and go to the hotel bar and talk bollocks. But no, we have to drive to another place and do it all over again. By the end of the night we're all feeling a bit strange. It's all getting to be a blur.

We struggle with our gear onto the Eurostar. There's not enough room for our luggage and the only place I can sit is in between carriages. Still, after only eighteen minutes underground we are in France. I've done it a few times now but it always seems slightly miraculous. We speed on to Paris. Tonight and tomorrow night we're performing in the Hotel du Nord. Karel Beer, the promoter, normally runs this small venue as an English language comedy club. Because it's so much fun to do, many famous comedians and acoustic performers have played there. It's all gets a tad embarrassing when the gendarmes are called in because of a local complaint about the noise. I always thought we were one of the quietest acts on the circuit. We finish the set with the PA turned off. Karel invites us back to his flat for an after show drink. I let myself down by firstly falling asleep on his sofa and secondly breaking wind noisily in my sleep. I don't think I'll be invited back.

We leave at two in the morning. As the three of us (Clive, Rob and I) cram ourselves into the tiny lift I feel a little uneasy. Half way between the third and fourth floor the lift just stops. Rob jabs the ground floor button again and the light goes out. In the creaking darkness I swear I'll never come to Paris again. It was here that I contracted rice water poisoning, not very nice. And where I once made myself spectacularly ill on oysters. After about a minute of silent rising panic we jolt down a level. Kicking open the door we tumble out onto the second floor. I am, I now realise, a big scaredy cat.

After a night in the one star Acacia hotel, a pleasant day of strolling about would have been nice. It was not to be, I have a meeting with a prospective songwriting partner. Tonight's gig has no electric guitars and brushes on the snare. Shh& Having to adapt our playing actually makes for a very good performance. Karel takes us out (I didn't think he'd let me back into his flat) for a meal in a cool bar. It's been a brilliant evening; perhaps Paris isn't so bad after all.

The next day the Eurostar crawls back to England. Yesterday the train had derailed and I think the driver is a little nervous. On the drive to Brighton, where we are this evening, we get a phone call to tell us that tomorrow's venue in Oxford (called Oxford.net) has gone bust. Tonight we do our only bad performance of the whole tour. Of course we do, because tonight's the night that Tony, who I used to be in a band with, is coming. To round off a dreadful day, the promoter knocks my guitar over while he's clearing up at the end of the gig. I want to go home.

In Oxford we play in the Zodiac club. They've kindly stepped in as an emergency venue. Despite some last minute posters and promises of honoured tickets we play to a brave few. The original place's demise has been all over the local paper. We're doomed. The loss of tonight's fee is a bit of a drag but I still feel for the bankrupts. A bit.

Cambridge! Home town. A sell out. In the back room of the Portland arms. This is one of my favourite places to play. There's always a great atmosphere and tonight might be the best yet. It's so hot that we have a break at half time. Outside people watch through the windows. We play really well. During one song (Please don't ask me to dance), I have a bit of a moment. I start to think about how lucky I am getting paid for doing this. Friends I haven't seen for ages are here. This has to be the best date of the tour. Neil Innes (a real live Ruttle), who knows Clive, is watching! Tragically he pushes off after about three songs. Oh well, you can't please everyone.

Two more to go. Brampton, near Carlisle. We finally meet Ken and Sue who booked this tour. They live nearby in the delightfully named village of Faugh (pronounced faff). This is the first time they have seen Clive and I together. They enjoy it so much that they say they want to do it again next year. Good.

And so it ends. Keswick. In the Theatre by the Lake we do our final gig. Last dates are usually an anticlimax and so is this one. We play well but our heads are already in tomorrow. The bubble has burst.

I used to hate touring but now I love it. It used to be a drag but now it feels like a privilege. See you next year?

Boo Hewerdine