And so it comes to an end.

Ricky has to go to Guildhall to run something symphonic, the talented little monkey - he’ll be taking the train to Pompey, where I’ll collect him later.

Tommy heads off home from Ricky’s - I’ll be picking him up on the way.

That leaves Rich, Chris & I. We recover from a late night, watching “Get Him to the Greek” in the background while I type up the e-mail addresses from the previous night.

Ricky’s dad comes back from work unexpectedly and makes epic tuna/sweetcorn sandwiches and roars along with the film, which is a lot better than I thought it’d be.

And so we set off, listening to Beck, Incubus, Ivyrise, Elliot Minor, Muse… we all plug in our iPods and take turns, sharing discoveries and pet loves; one of the best things about the long van journeys.

At some point, I put a few live Queen tracks on, and we all scream along to “Somebody to Love”.

We collect Tommy and head off to Portsmouth. We’re all a bit quiet, it’s the end-of-tour blues. We’re all tired, and the adrenalin rush we feel each night is addictive.

FranKo rock The Cellars. The venue is pretty full and the fans are up for it. A lot of the people know a lot of the words, and Tommy is joined, in particular, on belting out the ‘I am Rights’. It communicates, and the band go nuts on the last number, ‘Nobody Knows’. Richard stumbles while flinging himself about, gets hit in the head and stumbles further, falling over onto his back. He continues to play form the floor, not missing a note. He has knocked Tommy, who hits Chris, who bounces off the wall, bass first, and then backwards into the gap at the side of the stage. Luckily, it’s where I’m standing, so I’m able to prevent the fall.

All too soon, it’s over. Ivyrise deliver a knockout performance, too, the fans lap it up.

They all chat, and then it’s the chilly drive back to Tommy’s.

FranKo start the journey pumped, the acoustic guitar comes out and they work on new material. Then the tiredness sets in at about 12.30pm. Chris, sat next to me in the front, keels over and sleeps.

We get back to Tommy’s and there’s a noble effort at partying like rockstars, even though we all secretly acknowledge how knackered we are.

Jack (Tommy’s brother) cooks for us, and again this morning. What a ledge! We are all sitting round the kitchen table right now, except Ricky, who I had to drop at the rail station at 8.30am this morning. More classical stuff. He is amazing.

One sentence reviews of the Ivyrise tour:

Tommy: “Woah-oh-oh-oh ooo woah, she said yes to running.”

Rich: “A tour with a great atmosphere.”

Chris: “I’ll get back to you.”

They’re not really awake yet.