Wave Machines - Day Four

We saddle up to Bristol via Worcester, where we stay with a dear friend who welcomes us in with Talisker for Tim and Bells for the rest of us. Bloody favouritism. Our groggy morning heads are fed sausages and put back into the van along with the rest of our bodies, and we point ourselves in a southward manner, down the M5.

Having already played Bristol twice this year, we're really excited about tonight's gig in The Louisiana. Last time we were here was for the Dot to Dot festival - the place was rammed, bouncy, sweaty - and we're hoping for more of the same.

There's a good music scene going on here in Brizzle. Tonight, Wild Beasts are playing down the road at Thekla, and some of our audience are sweating like balloons before we even play a note, having just legged it from that gig to ours. They arrive just in time to see us take to the stage. Your bonus points are in the post.

One of these gloriously sweaty bodies belongs to a chap who we heard about recently... "There's a tall, curly haired fella who goes to all the good gigs in Bristol - if he's not there, you're nothing...". We recognise him from his jubilant, frenzied dancing at our Dirty Boots Glastonbury performance, and here he is, going for it again! This immediately puts us in a very good mood and the gig gets to boiling point by the second song and stays there.

I don't think we've ever heard Punk Spirit sung back to us with quite as much gusto as tonight's crowd muster, which is a fantastic way to close the set. Afterwards, someone sneaks onstage and nabs our masks, then has the audacity to ask us to sign them. We oblige, and are then presented with a box of cakes with our faces on them and a big rubber Satan head. Should we eat our own faces, or cannibalise a bandmate?

Tricky question.