Chapter 72. murmur, murmur...Marillion, murmur, murmur...Vocalista

We've all done it, haven't we.

Made a real effort and gone to town with your outfit because you are convinced you are going to be greeted off a train by an international TV crew, only to find yourself in the custody of the authorities in sub-zero temperatures with nothing more than a wooden bench and a pocket sequencer.

Of course if you are in the (small) minority that hasn't experienced that sort of a day then sit back and let me take you through the events of Saturday 18th November 1995. I should have known it was too good to be true when the breakfast turned up on time.

Oh and ignore Ant this week, he kept saying it was a five-day diary reading when he meant to say five pages. Bless him.

If in doubt always go to E flat.

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