conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Million, EPs with the genre: Biographies & Memoirs, Arts & Literature
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Road Beneath My Feet'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Road Beneath My Feet
  In the end, the hunt was fruitless – I've never seen the guitar since, much to my sadness. Apparently, the one source of criminal activity in the town is due to its proximity to Russia. Long-distance truck drivers, crossing the border regularly, pick up stolen goods and bus them into the markets in Moscow or St Petersburg and come back the other way with cheap manufactured Russian speed. So I guess my old faithful axe got sold in some Muscovite car-boot sale and who knows where she ended up. I still think about her every now and again and hope that at least someone's playing her.
  The rest of the day had something of a pall over it, understandably. Jocke managed to source another guitar for me to use at the show, so I did in fact play for a decent-sized and enthusiastic local crowd – he'd done his work as a promoter. Afterwards, we stayed the night in his bizarre houseboat and in the morning I got up early and walked on the ice of the frozen river in the snow-muffled silence, something I'd not done before. It was a strangely detached experience and helped me come to terms with the loss.
  As much as I try not to be materialistic about things – after all, we take nothing with us when we die – it's still pretty hard, as a musician, losing your old friend. Shortly after we headed back to the airport. I said farewell to my Finnish lady and I don't think I ever saw her again either; we both knew it wasn't working out by then. In travelling around the whole time, I often feel like I'm leaving little things by the roadside as I go – whether it's a washbag left in a hotel (I always lose those), an instrument in Finland or a girl who wanted something more fixed than I could offer. Each one is a small thing, survivable in itself, but I do occasionally wonder what they all add up to over time. Maybe one day I'll do a world tour of trying to find the things I left behind. It'd be a long trip.
  After getting home from Finland, I'd headed south to Brighton to meet up with my friends The Holloways. At the time they were indie darlings, riding around the UK on their bus playing triumphantly packed-out shows. They'd asked me to come and play with them in the Republic of Ireland and of course I'd said yes. But there was a gap in my schedule before those shows started, so I ended up getting on their tour bus a few days early to hang out, party and hitch a ride over the sea. The gigs were fun, if a little messy, and I also had an interesting time buying myself a new guitar in Stoke-on-Trent. I rang directory enquiries, got the number of a guitar shop and called it, only to find out that the owner of the business had died and I'd managed to ring up in the middle of a meeting about funeral arrangements. Hungover as I was, this was not the news I wanted or expected to hear. I managed to get one in the end, something cheap and nasty to tide me over until I could sort a more permanent replacement for my missing baby.
  To celebrate the release, Rachel decided to have a screening of the film at a local Newcastle cinema, the Side, followed by a short show and talk by me. I agreed, albeit slightly nervously. This was me out of my element, under the microscope, and I hadn't yet seen the film, so I wasn't sure how I came across. I took the train over to Newcastle with trepidation.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me another paragraph.. Start with the sentence 'After a discussion, some amateur taking of bearings and a fair amount of guesswork, we struck out boldly in what we thought was the right direction, hoping that the next crest, or maybe the one after, would reveal our destination'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: After a discussion, some amateur taking of bearings and a fair amount of guesswork, we struck out boldly in what we thought was the right direction, hoping that the next crest, or maybe the one after, would reveal our destination. We had no such luck. We started out calmly checking our watches, seeing that we had many hours before showtime, but after a while the possibility that we might miss my set, wandering haplessly through the countryside, started to become real. When we eventually stumbled across a road we tossed a coin to choose which way to go and hiked for a good few miles until we finally came across a farmhouse, the first proper sign of civilization since our driver had ditched us.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ben Franklin, a hero of mine, never got round to finishing his autobiography because he was too busy. That's about the best epitaph for a life well-lived that I can think of.
  Katie Dunne and the folks at PledgeMusic have been wonderful at getting the fan edition out into the world, for which I am eternally thankful.
  I've shared miles, stages, vans and hotel-room floors with many bands. They're generally mentioned in here. The bands that took me on tour as an opening act gave me my career. Noodles, from The Offspring, once told me that the only thanks required was to take out bands that I liked when my turn came and I've stuck to that principle. I've been lucky enough to tour with many singers and players who are better than me.
  Over and above all of these, thanks and love to Charlie Caplowe, my manager since day one and still the unsung hero of everything I do. Here's to another decade.
  Page 6, top: © Evan Cotter; left: © Rachel Brook; right: © Casey Lee; bottom-left: © Jamie Grime; bottom-right: © Sarah Kay