I met Bon Jovi in a Travelodge car park

Back in the heyday of music hall, variety, and hats, the British town of Crewe was important. Crewe had one of the biggest railway interchanges in the country, and became, by dint of train timetables, the place where music hall performers would meet each other as they crisscrossed the country from theatre to theatre. The cafes and platforms of Crewe station became an unofficial showbiz hangout for people catching up on gossip, doing bits of business and flirting.

So it seemed almost too perfect when, a couple of weeks ago, I found myself leaning against a tourbus, donut in one hand, bad coffee in the other, watching someone exit the Travelodge that I had just spent the night in. He was tall, in jeans and a brown leather jacket, hair feathered to a utopian standard, with big sunglasses on. We all kinda covertly clocked him, but only one of our number had the chutzpah to yell "Oi oi Bon Jovi!" at him. This was not me.

At which point he stopped, turned, smiled, and said, sheepishly, "well, yeah"

Turns out he was a Bon Jovi tribute act. Been doing it for ages. We were music hall acts changing trains at crewe, except we had a van and he was waiting for an uber. We left first, and he got the pleasure of a tourbus full of showgirls all shouting "BYEEE BON JOVI!" at him as we pulled out.

So. I've been on tour this month.

Days are spent in a van looking at the blurred horizontality of identical motorways. Nights are spent in budget hotel rooms sleeping under the exact same framed print. Lunches are a roll of the dice at the culinary casino of motorway services, which, to this non-driver, still feel like the most exciting of boring places.

It's late afternoon when we usually arrive at the venue. You can tell you're getting close because the tedium outside the van window starts to get broken by huge metal boxes with TOPPS TILES and B&M written on the side. This gives way to houses and convenience stores and for some reason almost always a crematorium. Then we're unloading into a theatre, and I'm scuttling off to find the furthest away dressing room so I can have some quiet time, and let the van engine hum leave my head.