Nearly halfway.

We arrive in Adelaide and I decide to have a nap before we head out to meet a friend of Kate and Keir's for dinner. I'm sharing an apartment with Adrian.

'Listen Adrian, I'm going to have a kip. If I'm not up by 18.30 give me a shout ok? I want to have a shower before we head out.'

'No worries.'

At 18.30pm exactly Adrian is outside my door. He has been left on his own for two hours.

Imagine Tigger. Add amphetamines. Remove any internal dialogue.

'Hey Legie!'

I'm on the first rung of the heady ladder to becoming a 'Legend' in Adrian's eyes. Apparently there's a CEO and everything. I think Adrian currently holds the position of 'Legend Liaison'. Something like that. I was flattered initially until I noticed that complete strangers who make a decent coffee immediately attain the level of Legend in his book. Strange men outside service stops with crocodile teeth sewn in to the rims of their hats are legends too. A purveyor of good fries is a Legend without any question. And cats. But I'm still just a Legie. A rank amateur in the arena. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Perhaps cataloguing his inexhaustible food issues in a public forum isn't helping my case. But legendary cats? Its hard not to take it personally.

'Legina. Legeena. Leg.' Pause. 'Legina. Legie. Legie. Legie. Leg. Leg. Legina.'

'I'm awake. Don't call me Legina. It sounds like vagina. I need a coffee and a cigarette.'

'Come on then!'

'How did I sleep so long?'

'Its your age. You start needing naps more frequently.'

'Adrian I'm 38. Can I go down in my PJ's?'

'I see it a lot in older people. Don't worry about it, its normal. When you're old. Napping.'

It's a nice hotel with a bar. I ask the young woman behind the counter if I can buy a coffee and she says of course. White, two sugars. Thanks. She asks Adrian what he wants and I settle in to watch his charm offensive. He's going to detail for her exactly how he likes his coffee, and why. He's halfway through his patter and I notice she has the dazed look of yet another service provider mesmerised by the strange magic he weaves around him. I wonder if I can fuck it up for him. I decide the key element is getting her to break eye contact with him, she looks like a rabbit under headlights. I start subtly waving at her from beside him as he talks about chocolate sprinkles and coffee to milk ratios. She finally notices and tears her eyes away. I've only got a second so mouth as distinctly as I can 'He's fucking mental!' I'm tapping my temple with my index finger and pointing sideways at him to illustrate. Her eyes widen suddenly and the glaze disappears. When she looks back at him she's frowning like she's just woken up.

'So, you basically want a flat white with chocolate sprinkles, yeah?'

She's being sarcastic! I'm absolutely delighted. I practically skip outside to light my cigarette.

Adrian follows me out looking confused and glancing back uneasily.

'Was she being sarcastic?'

'Yes, yes she was. I mouthed to her that you were a mental.' I have a shit eating grin on my face. I'm not proud of this (Yes I am). Its like kicking a puppy (I haven't yet had a cigarette or a coffee and the puppy has woken me up.)

'I knew something wasn't right. I lost her there towards the end.'

When the girl brings our coffees out she tells me that she made mine a little smaller especially because she knows I wanted it strong and the cup is too large. I thank her profusely and smile at Adrian. She practically throws his coffee down in front of him. Adrian tries to win her back but this battle is lost. Conceding defeat he tells her that he scores her coffee making at a meagre 9.5 out of 10. That's how lovely Adrian is. On the way back up to our room I have to stop him going back in to the bar to tell her that he didn't mean to be so harsh and its actually a solid 10 out of 10. I've told him to save it for tomorrow, she'll appreciate it more when she's had some time to think on it.

One of the most important lessons I have learned about being on tour is that good coffee and good food are paramount. I day can be made or ruined by breakfast. Kate frequently Twitters what town we're in and asks for breakfast recommendations. We've had some outstanding ones. And it is killing me. I'm not used to eating three meals a day and Kate and Keir work it all off by running every day. I have no such recourse. The notion of me running anywhere at all, even if Satan himself were on my heels, is laughable. In the UK I cycle everywhere and that makes a big difference. I also don't eat half as much. Kate is going to take me to the hotel gym tomorrow morning and show me how to use the Iron Maiden or whatever its called. I just thank the gods that there are no scales in hotel rooms or I'd have to stave my own head in with them.

We meet in the lobby at quarter to eight to walk over to the restaurant. Brasserie Dom, if you're ever in Adelaide. Perversely good. Kate is wearing a bright red poncho which makes her look like Little Red Riding Hood. She's always brightly dressed in lots of colour. I like to try and counterbalance her look by wearing black. Relentlessly.

The friend we were meeting, Mickey, knows the owner so we were sent a bottle of something sparkling and delicious as soon as we arrived. The menu was incredible and I looked over to see an air of resignation settle over Adrian. No pizza. No deep fried fish. No burger.

When we asked Keir what he fancied he read out the entire menu. Except for the House Boudin Noir. But only because we didn't know what it was. Turns out its Black Pudding. Keir has what he calls 'Trigger Foods'. If certain things are on the menu he has to have them. Scallops are one. Black pudding is up there. And I think liver parfait too. Whilst he attempted to whittle his selection down to something manageable Kate and I tried to figure out a way to get Adrian to order Lamb sweetmeats without telling him what they were.
We ordered a magnificent feast of Charcuteries, fish, lamb, cheeses, salted caramel and chocolate. Adrian had the fries.

In his defence he did order a cured salmon dish with Oyster cream. But he didn't like it. It came with charred peppers which he kind of liked. Kate tried to convince him they were like fries.

'What? Like fries but healthy?'

'Yes. Eat them.'

We all get giddy from the food, wine and conversation. Mickey tells us about the four different religions he's tried over the years and there are some arguments for and against the meaning and importance of spirituality. Keir quotes Jung and I think of my friend in the UK who loves Jung and wonder what he'd say. And I think about my family and how much I love them and how good it was to speak to them on skype the previous day. And I vaguely wonder if eating this food and talking about religion and Jung in a posh restaurant means I'm a grown up now. Because I don't feel like one.

I pop out for a cigarette between courses and when I return Kate tells me the remnant cigarette smell on me is delicious. She doesn't smoke at all anymore. She and Keir have both managed to completely knock it on the head. Mickey is a singer and a smoker. He says the guilt is awful. Apart from all the usual health risks you're horribly aware that you are wilfully damaging your voice and it feels very self destructive. Luckily my voice is only required for Karaoke and a smokers rasp is almost obligatory in that setting.
At the theatre in Renmark yesterday Kate was doing her vocal warm ups right next to me in the dressing room as I checked my email. She made a noise so high that one of my ears popped and I've been able to hear better ever since.

We're staying in this hotel two nights in a row which is a profound luxury. It means we can have a lie in tomorrow and we actually get to wash some clothes. We're almost halfway through the tour which seems impossible. We've covered a lot of ground in a short space of time. Long drives, flights, photos, podcasts, coffee stops, music, laughter and food. It's good.