With sad cruelty I awake early yet again, so make my way to breakfast. There's no sign of anyone else so after a quick bit of food I return to my room, plug in the laptop and spend a few hours on emails and the internet before Alex messages me to say he’s awake.

Having got a relatively early night considering the standards of being on the road, I was looking forward to a good long sleep and a little lie in, especially as it's Saturday and we don't leave for the airport until half ten. But my body clock has other ideas, awakening me at half past five, a mere four hours after I went to bed.

Very slowly I open my eyes and peer around the darkened room. To restore the karmic balance of having had far too much fun, I now have the mother of all hangovers assaulting my skull. I manage to crawl to the bathroom and blindly rifling through my washbag, locate some paracetamol. The breakfast of champions.

Sometimes evenings have a life of their own, where the mischievous spirits come to life and lead you astray on random adventures, bringing a whole heap of craziness to the party. Tonight's spirit is named Lisa and we dance to her fantastic tune long, long into the night, finding the dark, sexy, vibrant pulse of Buenos Aires flowing through our veins.

Thursday morning starts early. Being four hours behind the UK there's already a heap of emails backing up needing to be dealt with by 6am, which puts paid to my good intentions of a dawn visit to the gym, so I plug in the laptop and plough through them all with ferocious speed. A long phone call to the manager of another band who’s currently in Peru and about to catch a plane to Mexico, means that by the time I belatedly meet Todd and Tom for breakfast at 9.30, I feel like I’ve almost done a day in the office already.

5pm. My siesta is over far too quickly, marred by phone calls and text messages so I'm a bit blurry round the edges as I make my way downstairs to the bar.

Tick tick tick tick; it's just past 6pm, the second hand is counting down, the boarding cards are printing out and any minute now I have to leave. Grabbing my bags I'm out the door at double-quick speed, tangoing round the Circle Line to Paddington where I meet Alexander, editor of Metal Hammer magazine and my companion on this trip to Latin lands.