Spooky Man Robbie handed the diary-writing baton to yours truly for the final part of this big crazy charade we call a spooky tour. This was partly because, as he said, he would be sodding off and doing his own thing for the next few days with his lovely partner, but additionally, he would also not be attending the third half of the tour (which is about to commence as I write this). Rhys and Robbie’s entries have been incredibly entertaining for me personally, and clearly for many of you as well, so I will do my very best to follow in their footsteps of silliness and eloquence.

With a whole day off enjoyed at Canon Frome Court the Spooks were feeling fresh, and had our last breakfast and a lovely sing over a cup of coffee. We also began workshopping a much-anticipated epic to rival The Odyssey - the tale of The Revenge Of The Fatberg. More to come as we draw closer to its debut.

I have a bone to pick with you Brits. How can you possibly be the source of some of the greatest creative minds, scientists, and architectural wonders, and still not figure out how to design a normal shower? In fact you don’t even have to design it, because every other country in the world figured it out decades ago. In the last week I have been left bamboozled by 7 different designs, of which zero made sense. One had about 4 different levers and dials, none of which changed the temperature. One was a box on the wall with an “on” button. Why. Another was a golden idol on a plinth, that when removed released a giant boulder that chased me from the house. I would have dearly hoped that in the process of invading half the world someone would have glanced inside one of the bathrooms and been inspired, but alas.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, reinforcements gather to replace those snatched from the line by the relentless and long-reaching arm of capitalist obligation. Among that number is the darling Rhys; one who put much love and care into keeping the populace appraised of the Spooky movements, both bowel and geographical. As such I have been wheeled out of storage to give you a glimpse behind the curtain, and see the Second Half through the eyes of a slightly more tired Spooky Man.

A less misty morning struck across Edinburgh as the party breakfasted in their lodgings (the author would like to thank Anne and Dave for their local knowledge and football-watching nightcap). The various members of the Spooky Billet Club Edinburgh Chapter then converged on Cameron Toll shopping centre, where a stirring rendition of Every Time We Say Goodbye was offered as recompense for room and board. The Spooky Men then climbed into the bellies of their steel steeds for the long migration South to Liverpool.

The Mid Tour Break got underway, heralded by the departure of several Spooks from the touring party to the greener pastures of unfettered leisure time. Being there nowt to do around the Cobalt Park Travelodge, all that could entertain the spooky mornings were goodbyes appropriately tearful to mourn a separation of two days, and snack acquisition from nearby Tesco. Your intrepid author purchased his first ever scotch egg, with a view to ceremoniously eating it upon crossing of the Scottish border; unfortunately your intrepid author’s willpower was not that strong, and it was consumed long before a victuals stop in Berwick upon Tweed.

The touring party awoke, and attempted to brush away the cobwebs of imbibement and football watching by migrating to a cafe up the road. Breakfasts were had (and second breakfasts in some cases) before the tour reconvened, and the decision was made to detour to Settle via Bolton Abbey and the Strid.

The sun rose on Gosport, and a Spooky ventipede trooped to an adjacent coffee shop to breakfast. Lively debate was had over the ironicity of the ‘Slimmer Breakfast’ menu item, consisting of bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and (crucially) unbuttered toast. Van snacks were acquired, and the vans were populated for the long 3 hour drive to Birmingham ahead.

And it came to pass that the Spooky Touring Machine got on the road for the 2026 UK tour. Spooky tourists from as far as the Blue Mountains and as near as around the corner converged on the (aptly named for the 35°C weather) Summertown Arts Community to swot up for the journey ahead. A sojourn to Oxford Spooky HQ followed, at which time a concerted effort was made to fold (using official spooky folding technique) some of the 600 odd tshirts printed to commemorate the tour. Spooky forecat Looshkin oversaw proceedings until it was found that 500g of rubber bands was woefully insufficient for the task. After a communal dinner, the Spookies diffused throughout Oxford like a flatus through a poorly ventilated tour van and took repose amongst the dreaming spires.