Sunday, August 6
Sicily

Spend the morning proudly displaying my lily white body and red hair to gawping Sicilian populace. The show is at a sports stadium. Utter chaos permeates every corner of the proceedings. I soak up the burning Mediterranean sun and wait for the first murmur from Mount Etna. Briefly wonder how you say, "Fuck me silly, but don't tell your brothers" in Italian.
One minute before stage time we find ourselves stuck in a Sicilian traffic jam. Michael Stipe tells me to "Breathe, breathe", like I'm having a baby while hundreds of police stand around and do nothing. Police walk in and out of our dressing room all night to use the toilet. And there's no vodka. I have to make do and, during R.E.M.'s set, I lie in a haze backstage staring at a star - my star - which comes out when things are bad.