AND THEN THERE WAS ONE... You wouldn't believe it but they've got cyclos in central London these days - actual cyclos, just like in Saigon. You know the contraption where a driver sits up front and pedals like crazy so that a couple of lazy punters can sit there on a big seat and watch the world go by without raising a sweat. And you see myself and Wally had spent a half an hour trying to get a cab in the West End and there didn't seem to be any buses going our way at that time of night and it was starting to get cold - so with a bit of tense negotiation on the fare we were rolling down towards the band's hotel in Lancaster Gate. A fitting way for us to travel home after the last official Weddings show in 2008. Poor driver, it damn near killed him I reckon. I say it was fitting as in typical Weddings style the tour seemed to drag on just that little bit longer than everyone had thought it might, and take that little bit more effort than everyone thought they were capable of. (Keep pedalling, there's a good chap!). You would have thought five sell out shows at the Corner would have been enough but somehow the idea of us doing our last show in England had a certain perverse appeal and so even though we had played the last Australian show as if it were the grand finale there we were almost a week later still more or less in formation. But while the tour wouldn't seem to die of its own accord it's fair to say we had been losing people. At the height of it all the actual touring party had numbered eleven. That was the six players, plus the road crew we'd had pretty much all through the 90's, Stan Armstrong and Dylan Hughes, and of course Chelsea Dave Suttie, the merch man we'd had for even longer to which was added the two relative newcomers - tour manager Leesa Ellem and Toronto's finest Ron Hawkins. And I guess while all of us are happily involved in our own pursuits these days I think it was a real pleasure to be part of a big collective - a machine. Leesa had proved a vital link in the second half of the tour really making us feel like the shows were to be treated with a sense of occassion and respect. And Ron had certainly become an integral part of the ensemble as anyone who saw any of the last thirteen shows in Australia could testify. But after the Corner show we'd had to say a hearfelt goodbyes to Leesa as we just couldn't afford to bring her with us and then two days later we drove out to the airport with Ron where he got on a plane to Toronto and we went to London. So that meant there was nine of us that night in Lancaster Gate. Nine of us pretty happy in the knowledge we'd given the thing a damn good try and that it had all pretty much worked out. There had been great turn-outs at nearly all the shows, the festival gigs had worked well, we'd managed to resist the temptation to kill each other in an obscure hotel room somewhere and most importantly we'd played good shows. All of them. Good, hard committed shows. The memory was intact - maybe it for some of us it was stronger now than ever. Next day half the band went to see Chelsea beat Man U at Stamford Bridge and then surprise surprise we were all picked up in a van with our gear and driven to Chelsea Dave's local in Reading where there was still a slight bit of unfinished business for the band. You guessed it - a final sneaky little impromtu performance in the tiny backroom of the magnificent Retreat Hotel to celebrate Dave and Jen Anderson's engagement. It's a funny thing that Jen was prepared to play at her own engagement party but it was a nice sentimental way to finish it. I mean to actually, totally and utterly finish it. I had planned to spring Tim Hardin's Reason to Believe on the unsuspecting couple as a closing song but somehow the Irishman managed to break a bass string in Step in Step Out - which if you think about it is an effort in itself - and I think more of an omen than anything so best leave it there I made the snap decision. Done. The last show was over. There was a young couple that wandered in off the street and listened to pretty much all the set. They loved it they said. What were we called? Did we have any records? A website? When was our next show they asked? No, no, you don't understand. That's it. It's done. And so with our flights booked for Monday that left Sunday to fill. The morning saw us hanging around the foyer of the Reading Travel Lodge at a loose end. Perhaps a walk in the country someone suggested? And before you knew it we were nearly all heading out (in formation) along the Thames tow path and it's weird how whenever something looks like finishing it suddenly becomes easy to get everyone in the one place when it had formerly been a logistical headache. But not quite everyone as on this particular Sunday Stephen O'Prey had a flight to Belfast in the afternoon so after a quick goodbye at the Travel Lodge the group that walked out that day was down to eight. But a splendid day it was. The sun shone and the skulking derilect drinkers of Reading greeted us warmly as we walked through their haunts and out to the satellite village of Sonning where we sat outside a beautiful little pub called the Bull before adjourning to some other pub down the road for dinner. It was an easy day. It was great day. Next morning the van we had booked turned up dead on seven to take us to Heathrow. But Jen and Dave were hanging around Reading for a few weeks (Chelsea playing in Moscow was the clincher I think) and so it was six of us set off that morning. But when we reached Heathrow we realised Dylan Hughes was on a different flight as he was going direct to Brisbane and his flight wasn't for hours after ours so that left five of us clearing customs and boarding the flight for the Southern Hemisphere. And when we reached Hong Kong Stan Armstrong and Paul Thomas were heading straight through to Melbourne while myself, Squeezebox and Barclay were taking a break in the tropics for a few days so that left three of us clearing immigration and collecting our bags at Hong Kong. But Michael's sister was there to meet him at in arrivals so as we had planned all along it was just me and Wally that got on a Cebu Air flight to the Philippines. But the memories of a very heady couple of months were still good and strong, so as we sat there in a beachside restaurant and ordered up big that night on the local seafood, I think we revelled in the pure relief that something so potentially fraught with danger and disappointment had ended so well. I'm not sure what was the dominant smell that evening - the intoxicating reek of self-congratulation or the smoky sweetness of barbecued lobster. I'll not forget either in a hurry. We had some friends turning up the next day and after a few days of swimming and eating and drinking our way up and down the island and taking boat rides and buying souvenirs, Wally headed home to his family leaving just myself and my wife to spend a lovely lazy week together as the intense heat began to turn to rain every afternoon and the big wet season began to descend ending their tourist season for another six months. So there I was, once again without the monolithic personal framework of Weddings, Parties, Anything just trying to work out where the hell I would be going for the next period of my life. It was all rather symbolic to my mind - to be marooned in such a place, where everything was geared around something that was fading, something that periodically rises in their lives and then disappears just as fleetingly. But a week was a luxury and probably all I really needed - and if you'll permit me one more tropical island metaphor - as we sat there night after night looking out over the Tablas Strait and as the food vendors set up all around us I pretty soon concluded that I had other fish to fry.