The Arena Of The Unwell: Washington DC

I'm gonna suggest the DC in Washington stands for Destroys Countries. Moving swiftly on ...

To confuse matters, Bob and I take different flights from LAX to Washington. His flight heads for Reagan airport whilst I'm bound for Dulles (dull as) which is a good hour away. It's a five hour flight and we lose another three heading eastbound. Our hotel for the next couple of nights is at my end of town so Bob makes his way over to meet me at the airport and arrives in a slightly better mood than when I last saw him last, ostensibly because his guitar miraculously arrived in one piece. We take a shuttle bus to the Holiday Inn which despite its remoteness and lack of post-midnight amenities is spotlessly clean and has very friendly and helpful staff. I'm knackered and hit the sack like a sack of shit.

A comfortable bed deserves a lie in and late breakfast which is dutifully inhaled. Bob's back in town for the home-straight of The Australian Pink Floyd Show North America tour. Post-breakfast, Bobster is practising for tomorrow's gig whilst I'm taking care of cyber-business. I could listen to his rituals all day but we need to go out and explore. Little did we know it was going to take us two and a half hours to get anywhere remotely entertaining. The bus drops us off at l'Enfant Plaza. It feels a bit like the set from 28 Days Later but with cops replacing the zombies.

The bands saxophonist Carl is due in a taxi any minute now. He's a stranger in town too. When he arrives, instead of him jumping out, we jump in and beg the driver to take us somewhere less likely to encourage self harm. He takes us to the Irish Channel pub for some refreshment. Irish bars are fairly universal in this part of town. I'm intrigued to know why, given that this is clearly china town. Our next port of call is Fado which starts off pretty sedately and steadily fills to bursting point with fans watching ice hockey, baseball, football or whatever. I can't actually tell which screen the majority are paying attention to but they're really into something that involves lots of whooping and high fives. When it gets going it's a great atmosphere in here and well worth tracking down. A cab ride back to the hotel split three ways is infinitely more desirable than the bus. Game over.

The US-proportioned Aussie Floyd tour bus is here to pick us up in the morning. I meet the band members on board and we watch a film of a concert by The Eagles. I claim my own world-tour mantra courtesy of Bob, "Living it up at the hotel, can't-afford-ya".

We arrive in town and head to the stage entrance of The Warner Theatre on Pennsylvania Avenue. It's a stunning venue dating back to the 1920s. It's about noon but the crew have been here since 9am and the stage is half complete already. We're shown to the dressing rooms, dump our stuff and head down to catering for lunch. Sean, the tour manager, very kindly gives me an access-all-areas pass and a complimentary ticket. I'm standing around looking pretty useless most of the day but loving every minute of it, picking up a few tales of a life spent on the road. Some of the cast and crew have been doing this for over twenty years in various guises.

The band head out to kill some time in town before heading back for sound-check at 4pm. They're playing to an audience of two; the sound engineer and myself. He's darting around the auditorium with a microphone and a laptop whilst I'm sat down pretending this is my living room and the TV just got a lot bigger. What? Shine On? Just for me? OK guys, if you must. You don't get to see this stuff everyday and it's impressive.

Dinner follows and we're fed in time for the punters arrival at 7pm. The band take to the stage and play for almost three hours with a short interval, during which I leg it back stage for some more liquid refreshment. They are rewarded for their performance with a standing ovation. A few minutes later I head over to the sound booth at the back. A fan pokes his head round the corner and asks me to autograph his ticket. I guess there's no denying a vague family resemblance. I politely decline the offer on the basis that I have no musical talent whatsoever and forgot how to use a pen years ago.

Next stop on the tour is Scranton (backdrop for TV comedy The Office, the US version) but the bus doesn't leave until 4am so whilst the crew dismantle the stage the band are backstage having pizza, beer and wine. A smaller group of us head out to Harry's for more beers. Not content with the sober atmosphere here we embark on a mission and fast approach last orders before finding in a rather neat little place named Rocket Bar which has a bunch of pool tables and is a lot more lively.

When we get back to the tour bus I pick up my rucksack and say my goodbyes to the band. Bob and I go our separate ways now too so we have a gentle shoulder-charge moment and I'm off to my hotel. It's a bit of a trek to The Helix and I don't arrive until about 3am. This boutique hotel was, oddly enough, cheaper than anything else I could find in the area. To top off an unforgettable day the reception staff reward me for my hiking efforts by upgrading me to a suite. Sweet!

In the morning I get my boots on again, high tail it over to Union Station and hop on a BoltBus. Next stop New York City.

Choon of the day: Pink Floyd - Us And Them

Setlist