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Steve Knightley writes:

A tale of two cities. Part one - Glasgow.

You develop an instinct for such things, it might have been the weary resignation
of the young Polish receptionist as, one at a time, all six of us in our party
came trudging back to her desk asking to be moved to: a bigger room; one with
running hot water; one with a TV remote control; one with a double bed; one
nearer the ground floor (the lift didn't reach the fourth).

I knew I had problems when the bulb I moved from the desk to the empty socket over my
bed wasn't working, anyway.

We're in Glasgow, one of my favourite cities, for
Celtic Connections, one of my favourite festivals and we are staying for three
days in a huge, decaying Victorian hotel right next to the station.

It's eight o'clock on Monday evening - after a phone call to the charming Alison at the
festival office we are all going to be moved to a faceless, multinational,
supposedly impersonal hotel chain, where George the duty manager greets us like
long lost friends and where everything, well, just works!

A week later now and memories return thick and fast. A virtual sell-out show at the
; the pleasure of sharing a stage with ; overdoing
things with Aidan after our late-night club set and the sheer joy of spending a few days in a city where the music, the people, the ambience and the alcoholic intake leave you feeling satisfyingly sated.

Oh yes, we heard on the second day that our first hotel had gone into receivership and that Jack Nicholson had indeed been seen in the basement!