Sunday. I slept in my clothes. In a very warm room. Near a German. Called Elvis. That wasnt his given name, he changed it legally. Yeah, I know.

So we assemble. And the hunt is on for food and to prepare for Cafe Mono. The show we had booked in Oslo City. We found food, Eric Overland, the man who had brought us to Norway kindly took us in and fed & water us. The hospitality of the Norwegian we met was unbelieveable and if they read this they are more than welcome to come stay in my home and enjoy Scotland while they eat my food and drink my booze.

So we head to Cafe Mono, only to find it shut. And we have all the gear we us. So, a coffee shop is found, we set up base camp and drink coffee. The entourage secure themselves touristesque t-shirts.

Into Cafe Mono we get. Dinner is sought and found. Soundchecked and ready to kill em. Bring it.

The gig is devastating, the Bronto boys slay the assembled onlookers with precision and guile. They’ll be video of it at some point. Promises and all that…. especially of Niall killing his guitar.

At this point there are two things I havent mentioned, both important;

1) we found Dave. On friday when we lost him he wandered back to Oslo city and bumped into out friend Olaf whom he had met just that day. Olaf took pity on him and allowed him to crash on his hotel room floor. Daver was reunited with us on the penisular where he was adorded.

2) our flight home on the monday meant we had to be at the bus station (Torp airport is an hour and half from Oslo, Ryan Air dont tell you that) at 6am.

So we stayed within Cafe Mono for as long as possible which meant of course to drink beer and dance to some of Olaf’s DJ choices and talk to locals. Some of us, no names, went Club hunting and found some weird and wonderful sights.

And then we find ourselves politely asked to leave Cafe Mono, thanked for our rock show and money spent on beer. To the bus station where the worlds strongest coffee and hotdogs keep us company while waiting on the bus. Though Buddy & Iain did wrestle for a short period much to the annoyance of a stern Norwegian lady similar in face to Dame Edna.

Bus to airport every mofo in the entourage sleeps, except Niall & Dave who decide that Naomi Campbell is french for fucking houk. Fuck I think the madness is setting in.