The day after the gig we congregated around Charlie’s kitchen table to pig out on pig-derived breakfast products, drink coffee and generally behave like respectable, if hungover, adults. Charlie & Penny’s daughter Annabel is reaching that ‘recognition’ phase where she’ll lock baby-blue eyes with you, look deep into your soul and smile or cry as appropriate. When Penny plonked her into my arms (momentarily unoccupied with shovelling bacon into my gaping maw, as I gasped for air like a stranded whale), I grappled awkwardly with her, trying not to dangle her from one hand or inadvertently choke her, and smiled warily.

She smiled, and then started to cry.

I score 50%.

After breakfast — a long time after breakfast, so thorough is the mental preparation and discussion which accompanies any activity involving two or more members of Coba Fynn — David & Jenna gave Doug and I a lift into the centre of town before heading back to Edinburgh. Doug and I had other plans, and we sauntered into The Arches to try out Alien Wars. We were lucky enough to have a couple of complementary tickets waiting, courtesy of Doug’s disgustingly successful sister Jackie, and unlucky enough to arrive at precisely the same time as every ned of school age in Glasgow. We grabbed a pint in the bar and waited an hour, as suggested by the receptionist (who, ironically enough, was too cool for school; in the movie of this particular day, she’d be filing her nails and flirting with the guitarist of an up-and-coming electro-pop band), and when we returned the queue was exactly as long as when we had first arrived.

We bit the bullet and took our place in line.

Alien Wars is, if you haven’t come across it before, a sort of live rendition of Aliens with a Glaswegian twist. That’s not to say that the creatures can be found drinking alone at busy city-centre bars, projecting a faintly aggressive mien and determinedly trying to engage in sectarian football chat anyone foolish to move within striking distance, but instead that our host, the imposing Corporal Mackenzie, had a deep but comprehensible Glasgow bark.

“It is not true that there are live alien creatures down here,” he admonished us sternly. “Now turn off your mobile phones; they interfere with the security systems.”

Nice, I thought. Don’t want a ringing phone to break the suspension of disbelief.

“Follow me!”

We were hustled through the double doors into a facsimile of the darkened corridors of Hadley’s Hope and told to line up against the wall. Flickering lights and dry ice abounded. Corporal Mackenzie started our ‘briefing’.

“As you’ve been told, an alien spaceship was found during recent renovations at The Arches. We’re going to view it now, and although it’s completely safe, you must stick with me and do exactly as I say. Now— whose mobile phone is that?

We all reflexively checked our phones.

“Security systems deactivated,” a recorded PA voice announced. Ah, very clever, I thought.

“Shit! Fuck!” bellowed Corporal Mackenzie. “It’s all a lie — there are aliens down here and we’ve been experimenting on them. Run! Run!

I won’t spoil any more of it, but I will say that I stumbled through the last door shaky with adrenaline and grinning with appreciation. It’s great fun, and it’s only on until the end of March. Do it!