I didn't sleep that night. I shook. I went to the gym at 8am to get some good hormones going, ate 3 bananas and booked a cab. Off to Media City.

I sat in a Pret making notes, noise cancelling headphones on, feeling the calm of my routine set over me.

The notes aren't even to look at. That's a distraction, especially with my handwriting. They are a ritual. "I've got this. I know this. Here's a quick reminder. Now close the book."

Ready. Presenter Winifred Robinson said hi and told me what their intro would be. She said there would be hard questions. I understood. My mum was a journalist. The BBC don't mess about.

I politely requested she remove the info about my parents & sister, that I'd obviously wanged on about to the producer in June. Me, I'm all out there, but most folks are private, especially my Mum & Sis. This wasn't about them, and they agreed.

In I went. I look relaxed. I was. And I wasn't. A strange sense of calm. Prepared. Whatever will be will be.

I was asked to take my jacket off, as despite being awesome, it wasn't silent.

Then we counted down, and off we went. 

They said it was great. Honesty, it felt great. 

It was no puff piece though. Winifred Robinson asked hard questions. Questions that would have made me shake with anxiety a few years ago.

Usually I go over & over what I got wrong after interviews, but for once I felt great about what I'd said. Everything was so clear to me. It was cathartic.

Then I turned my phone back on and looked at the website traffic. Literally 10s of thousands of listeners!

This is my reaction on Instagram afterwards. Its raw.

I waited to call Emmalou because I knew I'd burst into tears. Which I promptly did anyway.

I then wandered in an exhausted state around central Manchester, taking a trip down memory lane.  Here's Barca, that Mick Hucknall co-founded. So many stories! If you've heard my 'Eric Cantona is God' (and I'm a Forest fan) story, it happened on that second glass fronted floor. This was the area we used to chain all the empty kegs together after massive weekends. It was a very swanky joint back then. Now it's seemingly the only area of any neglect!

 

Next up, Tampopo for an awesome lunch. my wife Emmalou worked there when they launched and we moved in together in 1997. 

I've spent the proceeding days in a bit of a daze, attempting to answer all the messages. By chance, this weekend had turned into a massive culture fest. This is a rarity!

We saw Hugo from 86TVs outside the gig he was playing at with Idles. I know Hugo through a funny sort of cycling/Maccabees connection and it was lovely to see him and to see 86TVs career starting to kick off.

It was a great antidote to jump around like the teenage indie kid I once was, to local punk rock mental health advocates Idles in Bristol. "My mother worked 15 hours 5 day a week, my mother worked 16 hours..." I shouted along with a 1,000 good good people.

Last night we saw more local talent Massive Attack in Bristol. The rain f***ed down on us. Luckily I had a jacket...

Liz Fraser of the Cocteau Twins (hallowed be thy name) did a cameo of Song to The Siren by This Mortal Coil. Ammmazzzing.

Tomorrow, we're seeing comedian John Bishop at the Rode Comedy Festival, that I literally ride past on my way too/from work! He's a FRAHM customer and all round top chap. I'm not one to fawn, but it'd be nice to say hi and talk pockets.

Phew. Sane again. I'm in work now, on a bank holiday Monday. No rest for jacket makers as Autumn dawns...

Meanwhile, I've watched sales have go nuts since Thursday. Definitely not our average week. 

The interview is everything I wanted it to be. Not perfect. Real. Beautiful from tough. All out honesty.

My weekend of recovery is a slice of a more beautiful 'Real Life' I wouldn't have had if I'd taken my own life when things were incredibly tough. That's why we talk about suicide.

Real life is not smooth. We all fail. It's what you do next that matters. 

Thank you. I'm still getting my head around your reaction & what it's done for FRAHM & thus all of us.

Nick