Skegness Embassy Thurs August 11th

So while we were slumbering peacefully in our little truckle beds in the Washington Travelodge, the band, we thought, were relaxing in the opulence of the New Ambassador Hotel in Whitley Bay, where we had visions of them sipping cocktails in the Vegas Bar and generally being Rock Stars. It would appear, however, that the reality was a little more prosaic. From the borderline psychotic desk manager with the bottle of Jack Daniels tattooed on his arm and the casual mention that he could no longer sample his favourite tipple as it made him vomit blood, to the totally over- the- border psychotic woman who followed the band from the hotel to Stavros’s Kebab & Salmonella Emporium, all the time flashing various parts of her anatomy, to the attractive smell of damp which pervaded the building, right through to the interesting collection of other people’s pubic hairs which were to be found in most of the beds, the New Ambassador experience seems to have been one which the boys will always remember, but possibly for all the wrong reasons. Still, got to be pragmatic…at £ 20 a room including breakfast ( which none of them, surprisingly, sampled ) it’s a bloody good deal ! In deference to the band and their variety of nasty, itchy little red bites, however, the “ Roach Motel “ has been struck from the list of accommodation. Lightweights…… Now, when you look at a decent – sized map, Washington to Skegness is about…..oooooohh….three inches, say, but when you’re driving there it’s actually bloody miles. About 220 of them, to be precise, many of them winding through the dreary Lincolnshire fens past odd-looking little hamlets with names like Much Trubbling and Lower Splunt. It gets even more jolly when you find yourselves following a house, as Nick, Junior, Arthur and I did for what felt like much of my adult life. OK, so it was just one of those prefab jobbies on the back of a flatbed truck, but it was BIG and it was SLOOOOOOOW. So slow, in fact, that we were an hour late arriving in Skegness, and even the heady aroma of fish, chips, candydfloss and chav couldn’t divert us from our mission. Normally, if you haven’t done a show for a while, it can all get a wee bit rusty and slow, but we were like the proverbial greased lightning today. So greased were we, in fact, that we had the show in, built, soundchecked and finished within three hours, which is pretty bloody good going by anyone’s standards. This gave us a bit of time to consider our options. For a brief moment we thought about riding the Log Flume in the amusement park next to the theatre, which seemed like a wizard wheeze, but one look at the primordial soup which passes for the water that the logs have to go through changed our minds…perhaps if we had our waterproof biohazard suits with us, but not this time, eh ? Although it was raining on and off, the streets of Skegness were pretty much rammed with the very finest type of British holidaymaker, and the difference between now and the last time we were here is remarkable. The place is palpably alive in a kind of kiss-me-quick, all-day-bingo, end-of-the-pier kind of way, and after all the images we’ve seen this week of this country’s cities being laid waste to by a rioting sewer - effluence of feckless hoodie-rats, sink estate scum, wannabe gangsters and other oxygen thieves, it’s somehow comforting to see this tacky display of traditional Britishness in all it’s tawdry glory. In fact I’m SO comforted that I buy two big sticks of rock and a bag of cinder toffee, as I reckon I’ll need something sweet to follow the fish and chips I’m just about to scoff..The other thing that was missing when we were here last was an audience, but the venue’s assertion that a summer season gig would be different is borne out as we see a healthy flow of people making their way to their seats. All is looking on course for another stress-free show, when just five minutes before lights down the main projector starts flashing, then goes off altogether. Tomps is never a man to get his boxers in a bind, but even he has a little bead of sweat on his brow as he wrestles to get the thing working. With a tweak and a tug he gets it up and running again, and we’re off. All is great until the second number, when my computer freezes, and steadfastly refuses to show any more of the slides. I’ve mentioned before that things which would once have had us blubbing with fear are now dealt with almost nonchalantly; there’s a BIT more tension around than normal here, but the feeling is more that we’re annoyed we can’t give people the best show rather than “ It’s all gone wrong and we’re all going to DIE !!!” which was my previous default setting. By the end of the first video insert it’s all happening, though, and from then on we’re in cruise control. The band are even more on it tonight than last night, and more remarkable still is the fact that Phil got some very disturbing news from home in the interval, yet has played the second half as if his greatest care in the world was what colour guitar pick to buy next time he needs some. Strong stuff indeed. There’s a great response again tonight, and once more we get the message that the theatre management are really happy with the way things have gone….this definitely won’t be the last time we play here, and we’re all very, very happy about that. Some places just feel right, just make you so welcome, and this is one of them, from the bar staff to the technical boys. More, please !!! We now come to the weirdest part of the night….we’ve done two shows, we’re in the groove, we’re back on the road…..except we’re not. We’re going home again after this, and it’s sad, frustrating and annoying in equal measure. Oh, we’ll all be seeing each other in Liverpool in a couple of weeks , of course, but I don’t think there’s a single one among us who wouldn’t rather be getting on the bus with Big John, cracking open a brew and heading off into the night to the next show. As it is, Rodders has the drive from hell. He came to Whitley Bay straight from Edinburgh in a one-way rental car, and has told us that he needs to have it back by 10.00am tomorrow morning…..in Penzance. That’s about halfway to the Moon by my reckoning, so we waste no time in hitting the road . He’s very kindly agreed to drop Tomps, Junior and myself off on the way, so we cram into the small Japanese saloon that was only ever intended to carry four little sons or daughters of Nippon and not four big British blokes with enough luggage to sink a battleship, and off we go into the night. So it is that at about 2.30am I’m standing outside my house and watching Rodders’ tail lights disappear into the night , and I’ve got a bit of a “stunned mullet” thing going on. Just forty eight hours ago we were driving up the A1 on the eve of the Whitley Bay show, all excited about starting the shows again…..and now it’s already finished ! I’m definitely left with an air of “ What happened here today…..?” right up until the moment I put my key in the lock and realise that my partner’s put the safety chain on, and I can’t get into the house. Nor can I phone her, as there’s a problem with BT so the landline’s off, and her mobile has no service inside. I can’t climb over the gates and we don’t have a door knocker. Add to that the fact that she sleeps like the dead and the prospects aren’t looking good. I can’t explain why, but somehow it fits…..I’m not on tour, yet I’m not at home. It’s over, but I can’t close the door on it. Through this maelstrom of maudlin musing I gradually become aware that I need to pee, and at my age, when you need to pee you need to pee NOW. Not wanting to upset the neighbours by hosing down their prize azaleas, I try her mobile again….and miraculously it starts ringing. She eventually answers and sleepily slurs “ Thought you said you were coming back Friday ?“ when I tell her I’m standing outside the LOCKED front door with a bladder that feels like it’s a rat’s handbag filled with the contents of a swimming pool. “ It IS f*****g Friday !!” I manage to reply. Eventually doors are opened, bladders are drained, and beds are wearily clambered into. Meanwhile, somewhere on the M6, Rodders is cranking up Saxon on the car’s CD player and trying not to thing about the six hours of driving that still lie ahead of him………

Whitley Bay Playhouse, Wed August 10th

Welcome to the mini - est of mini – tours !After a gap of a few months we're back treading the boards with a couple of gigs to blow away the cobwebs before we take a completely new show to Liverpool Philharmonic at the end of the month, so we’re all trying to remember what goes where and who does what ! We’ve been asked back here to Whitley Bay Playhouse by the theatre management, which is always nice and not a little flattering, so we’re keen to make a good impression as well as ironing out any kinks.
( See what I did there ? ? Kinks ? Sixties show ?....Oh, never mind…..) Although it’s over four months since we last did this show, however, it’s a bit like riding a bike, and we find that we’re slotting back into the tour routine as if we’d never been away. The crew traveled up the night before to give us a good run at things today, and within minutes of setting up, the prudence of this becomes clear. As Tomps starts to change the settings on the main projector he is rewarded with a bang, a flash and a puff of smoke out of the air vent on the side. Now, I’m no technician, but even I could see that this was a Very Bad Thing. At £ 200 – odd a pop these aren’t the kind of item you carry lots of spares of, but luckily we DO have an older lamp on board that will suffice, and with little more than a curt “ Nothing to see here..step away from the projector !” from Tomps as I wander over to see what’s happened, he and Dr Arthur don the masks and gowns, whip out the scalpels, and soon have the thing working again. We have a few tense moments with a recalcitrant radio microphone rack that clearly needs something more than Impact Therapy to get it working again, but with very little evidence of blood, sweat or tears, soundcheck is soon running smoothly, and we’re treated to one of the new songs the band are playing tonight, The Hollies “ I’m Alive “, which replaces “ Look Through Any Window “. They’re also switching “Wonderful Land” back into the set at the expense of the “ Apache / FBI “ medley, thought they insist this is on musical grounds only, and nothing to do with the shenanigans the crew used to pull during “ FBI" on the last tour. Spoilsports…..We’ve actually increased sales quite nicely from the last time we were here, but you’d never know from walking around the town. Normally when we play seaside towns it's cold, grey, wet and pretty much deserted, so we thought it'd be nice to do some in the summer. Here we are, then, in Whitley Bay in August…..where it's cold, grey wet and pretty much deserted. One place that IS open, however, is Pantrini’s, the fish and chip restaurant, and let me tell you, if we’d played in Whitley Bay on the last tour then Pantrini’s would have been pushing for a top three slot in our top tour grub league table. Light, fresh and crispy with just the right infusion of lard, they truly hit the spot, though they DO have the unfortunate side effect of making the backstage area smell like Billingsgate Fish Market. Still, a man’s gotta chew what a man’s gotta chew. Whether they’re slightly dazed from the effects of the 260 mile drive up here today or whether it’s incipient mellowness, the band hit a really relaxed groove right from the start. Steve in particular is just driving things along beautifully, playing a smart, tight solo in Pretty Woman and generally backing off the general violence and pyrotechnics a little, but they’re all just clicking really nicely. Den and Jamie are in great voice, Phil’s right on the money, and apart from an interesting new intro to “ Whiter Shade Of Pale “ Chris is bang on too. Next to me Tomps is proudly operating his new show computer and dropping in his usual witty asides over the comms system ( though fortunately he is fart-free tonight, to the relief of my little nostril hairs which have only just grown back from being singed off the last time). Nick is next to Tomps doing his hand – jiving and Dad – dancing, and on the other side of the stage I can see Junior, looking more like an eco-warrior than ever, and suddenly I feel a real surge of love for this whole thing, for all these people, and it feels so much like being back on tour that I get a real pang when I realise we’re only doing this for two nights. Luckily this only lasts a second or two before I accept it’s time to MAN UP and stop being such a soft shite. Emotions are for GURLS.
We’ve got a very decent crowd in tonight, and they play their part in turning this into an above – average evening, so by the time the house lights have come up at the end we’ve got a real sense of a job well done. We’ve identified a couple of things we need to look at before Liverpool, which is one of the main reasons for doing these two shows, so all that remains now is to work out what goes into which vehicle and in which order. Thanks to the Playhouse’s splendid bi-van load dock, however, even THIS is accomplished quickly and painlessly, and it’s not even midnight as we pull away and head for our hotel at Washington on the A1. We’ve left the band here in town tonight ( more of which later…..) and are all set for the simple run through the Tyne Tunnel and onto the A1….except that the Tyne Tunnel is shut for roadworks, and the attendant diversion system has been put in place by someone who has failed to grasp the premise that the primary function of a road is to assist you in reaching your destination. Just when you think you’ve worked it out, WALLOP !!!....along comes another “ Road Closed “ sign. Now, I used to live around here, and I have a reasonable grasp of the geography of the place, or so I thought. At one point I was convinced the Roadworks Bastards had even changed the course of the river Tyne as it was most definitely not where it should have been, but eventually we found our way onto the coast road, and without further mishap headed south until we eventually rolled into Washington Birtley services and the delights of the Travelodge. It had taken us nearly an hour to cover 22 miles. We finally hit the hay, grumbling about the “ lucky old band, staying in the nice hotel right around the corner from the gig……”

Oh we do like to be beside the seaside.....

It's bucket and spade time ! To warm up for our headlining show at Liverpool Philharmonic on Friday August 26th, we're packing our towels and trunks ( and our thermals....this IS England after all ) and heading off to the seaside for two gigs at Whitley Bay Playhouse and Skegness Embassy on Wednesday and Thursday August 10th and 11th. I know they're both " school nights " but what the heck...why not let yourself be lured by the heady smell of candyfloss, fish and chips, sticks of rock and chavs from Dagenham and join us on our two-date East Coast Tour ?! If you're thinking of coming up to Liverpool, that'll be a bit good too, as the Beatles Festival organisers have asked us to put together a special " Cavern Years" Bootlegs show. In fact, why not make a weekend of it ? We are !!

Anorak & Chips, Please.....

I’ve already noted in previous blogs that I get a bit of stick for not having talked about the actual show enough, and as I said before I’m trying to describe the weird, boring, exciting, funny, sad, exhilarating, tiring, invigorating daftness that is life on the road….I’m NOT reviewing the gigs. However, I HAVE been asked to list the songs which were played, so I’ll just don my best anorak and we’ll get started….

Set 1
Please Please Me
Don’t Throw Your Love Away / I’ll Keep You Satisfied
Hippy Hippy Shake
Go Now ( once ! )
Little Deuce Coupe
Not Fade Away
Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood
Pretty Woman
Catch Us If You Can
You’ve Got Your Troubles / Tobacco Road / For Your Love / She’s Not There
The Times They Are A-Changin’
Mr Tambourine Man
Look Through Any Window
Keep On Running
Don’t Ever Change / Walk Right Back / Rhythm Of The Rain / Breaking Up Is Hard To Do / Do You Wanna Dance
You Really Got Me
You Were On My Mind
Apache / FBI
Out Of Time

Set 2
Feelin’ Groovy
What A Day For A Daydream / Happy Together / Mellow Yellow / Lazing On A Sunny Afternoon
Itchycoo Park
Hole In My Shoe
Strawberry Fields
Whiter Shade Of Pale
Light My Fire
California Dreaming
Handbags & Gladrags ( once ! )
Proud Mary / Mighty Quinn / Got To Get A Message To You / Suspicious Minds
Star Spangled Banner
Pinball Wizard
He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother
Green Onions
I Wanna Hold Your Hand / All Day & All Of The Night / When You Walk In The
Room / Gimme Some Lovin’ / Satisfaction / Mony Mony
Daydream Believer
Spirit In The Sky ( twice ! )
You’ll Never Walk Alone.

As the tour progressed, another very important list was made up, too….this was the Bootleg Sixties Crew Top Tour Grub Chart, and competition to make it onto this was fierce indeed, as we know that restaurants, pubs, fast food outlets and blokes with dodgy whelk stalls all over the country avidly await the results each year to see where they’ve come. We HAD considered a sub-chart for fish and chip shops as we had these no less than seven times, but in the end we just incorporated everything into one big smorgasbord of wonderfulness. As a result, we have a tie for the top slot this year, so take a bow Busy Bees ( Bridlington ) and The Gourmet ( Scunthorpe )

Busy Bees is without doubt the best fish & chip shop we’ve ever been in. The fish is all cooked fresh and by weight, the batter is light and crispy and the chips are firm and chunky. The portions are huge ( fnaar fnaar ) and eating there really is an experience not to be missed.

The Gourmet is a very fine Indian restaurant in Scunthorpe. Although billed as the best in the area, prices were very reasonable, and the chicken tikka was especially good, tasting as it did of proper tandoor oven cooking as opposed to being just meat smothered in red tikka sauce to disguise possible feline or canine origins. Even the spices, relishes and raithas were excellent, and the staff were exceptionally polite and helpful given that they were invaded by twelve hairy – arsed pissheads on a quiet Monday night.

Also worthy of mention were :

Dominos in Worthing who delivered our pizzas direct to the bus after all, even though they originally said they wouldn’t

The Golden Ringpiece in Andover who not only supplied us with a mouth-watering array of Chinese dishes, but also plied Arthur with booze as he waited for it to be cooked

The Marlborough fish and chip shop in Weymouth which NEARLY made the top slot had it not been for the fact that I’d almost died of exhaustion by the time I eventually found it

Wetherspoons in Weymouth for their superb, and incredibly good value “ train smash on a plate “ full English breakfasts.

Beales fish and chip shop in Porthcawl, whose delicious fish and copious chips were marred only by a slight excess of grease., most of which I ended up wearing

We must also, unfortunately, give a Golden Raspberry to McDonalds in Scunthorpe High Street for not having realised that it’s supposed to be “ fast food “ ( the clue’s in the name, you morons…) and for employing a cloth-eared bat who managed to get BOTH of my very simple orders totally arse-upwards. May she drown in a vat of ketchup.

A final word of thanks must go to Kay Howell for a seemingly endless supply of carrot cake and the fearsome chocolate confection which goes by the name of “ Tank”, both of which helped the bus travellers ( well, mainly me, to be honest ) to stave off hunger in the middle of the night.

To all of the above, our heartfelt gratitude and appreciation ( except Scunthorpe McDonalds, of course, which needs to be razed to the ground, especially if the soap-dodging, benefit –scrounging , chavvy oxygen-thieves who congregate there are still inside )

As ever, Faithful Blogreader, thankyou for your continued indulgence. We’ll be back in August for tales of Whitley Bay, Skegness and Liverpool……

Geddington, Mon April 4th

As predicted, I didn’t see the band this morning, apart from Phil, who has opted to travel in the van with Nick and Rodders as he’s going to Stansted to catch a plane home to Sweden. ( a decision he will come to regret ! ) Big John, Rodders, Tomps and Junior have already been up and into town for breakfast, making my creeping about the bus so as not to wake anyone seem a little redundant. Nick, rather unusually, has not surfaced yet, so I’m despatched with the pokey stick to wake him up. As I approach the bus the door opens and a vile monster steps out….oh, hang on…no, it’s just Nick, but he looks like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards AND forwards, and then gone to sleep in it. Sensibly, Rodders takes the first stint at the wheel and Nick is poured into a passenger’s seat until he can finally emerge from his cocoon like a beautiful butterfly. Or something. It really IS parting time now, and so it’s handshakes and hugs all round. As Tomps and I attempt the latter we realise we’re not actually getting much nearer to each other; he looks down at our comfortably capacious stomachs and comments ruefully “ I think we both need longer arms ….” . A last wave and the vans are off, the adventure over and just the last bit of grunt work to do. We’re dropping our kit at our storage facility in Northamptonshire, and due to a peculiarity of the geography on the site even half a centimetre of rain can make the approach to it turn into something from The Somme, but our luck holds today and it stays dry, so everything goes back where it came from with the minimum of fuss and effort. Arthur drops me off at home, and as I walk up the hill towards the house and the recommencement of “normal” life I think back on everything that’s happened, not just over the five weeks of the tour but also of the many months leading up to it. We still don’t know how the tour has done financially, so there’s all that to work out, but whatever happens, one thing DOES shine through, which is that Clive continues to recover from his stroke, and that helps keep things very much in perspective. If HE can keep smiling through all that, then so can we. I think of the stress, the late nights, the logistical nightmares, the budgetary fun and games and all the little foibles and farragoes that accompany the preparation of a tour like this, and as I begin to try and put things in some sort of mental order, one thought burns into my mind……” I wonder if the pub’s still open ?”………..

Tony Henderson
Geddington, Northamptonshire
Tuesday April 5th

Buxton Opera House Sun April 3rd

Although Buxton is a lovely little town nestling in the Derbyshire Dales, it’s a bit of a bastard to get to, especially in a heavily laden van with coolant problems, but we manage to arrive safely, and even thirty minutes early. To our surprise no-one’s about, but then Tomps makes an appearance. He’s looked fresher, truth be told, and the reason for his somewhat less than chipper demeanour today is down to a combination of a VERY rough drive up in the bus and the hourly pealing of the bells from a church about four and half feet away from where the bus is parked. It would have been uncomfortable enough travelling up these little roads with their twists, turns, dips and hills in a double decker bus under any circumstances, but when you’re trying to sleep on the pitching, rolling upper floor it must have been horrible. When they finally arrived our weary travellers thought a few hours of stationary rest awaited them, but at seven am the bells of the adjacent church suddenly started pealing…..and pealing….and pealing. They weren’t just sounding the hour, of course, it’s Sunday morning, so they’re calling people to services…AND it’s Mother’s Day, so there are special services too. Nightmare. This is potentially bad news…the last thing we want on the final show is for the band and crew to be tired and below par. One by one they get up ( yes, even Jamie….) and either shower or head into town, and to our relief it seems to do the trick….by soundcheck everyone looks almost human and firing on all cylinders. There’s none of the “ end of tour “ blues about today, either, which is VERY odd….normally at the end of a jaunt like this you’re already starting to look to life beyond the twelve people you’ve spent the last few weeks with and wondering how you’ll cope without Nick to take the piss out of., or Rodders to buy crisps and chocolate for you, or Tomps and Junior to have a laugh with during the show each night, but everyone seems very philosophical and matter of fact about things, to the extent that I wonder if it’s only me who feels like this ! There are certainly no weird end – of – tour high jinks to distract the band from their playing….though the Shadows moment tonight is perhaps our best yet, with Junior, Tomps, Nick and myself hurtling across the stage behind the backdrop to take up station at the opposite side to where we normally stand, and where the band normally see us, each night., so that as they do the choreographed turn there’s a confused moment of “ hang on….they should be over THERE…have I turned the wrong way ? “ Possibly the very best part of tonight is the presence of forty – odd eleven year old kids from a local school. No, hang on, I haven’t gone all Gary Glitter on you….we learn that they are studying The Sixties as part of a history project, and as they knew we played all the music and showed all the images from the decade, their teachers thought this would be a good show for them to see. Big hand for the forward thinking of those staff ( mind you, they clearly had a ball themselves, so it wasn’t COMPLETELY altruistic !) but the kids seemed to love it…they dutifully screamed at the end of each song, giving it a nice “ Beatlemania “ feel, and it was just great to see them bopping about. We had a good crowd in tonight too, as Buxton is one of the venues where we road – tested this show a few years back, and they know how to promote us here. In fact, it’s a perfect choice for the last show…great theatre, great crowd, great crew, great place altogether. I’m totally fine for almost the whole set, then for some reason Whiter Shade Of Pale takes on an almost unbearable poignancy and I feel the tears prick my eyes…it suddenly crashes in on me that this really IS the last show, and the adventure’s over until next time. I’ve got a huge amount of personal unpleasantness to deal with when I get back, and the tour has cushioned me from the real world, but now it’s knocking on the door again and I’ve got to deal with it. I have to shake this melancholy, though, because it’s not fair on everyone else, and anyway, we’ve got an end of tour party scheduled for later on, with cakes and jelly and pop and everything. We’ve still got a show to finish, though, so I swallow my unhappiness and the three of us at stage right bellow along with the last two numbers. Again, we’d toyed with the idea of doing Spirit In The Sky but we’re really just reserving that for flat-out mental nights; this has been a huge success but there aren’t people hanging from the rafters or anything, so it’s curtain down, gear off, and into the de-rig. Before we start tearing down the kit I have a brief chat with a couple of regular fans who tell me, in one of the most touching testimonials that I’ll ever hear, that the show “ puts them on a high for days afterwards “. If we can reach people in that way then that’s good enough for me. I see Marilyn and Debbie even more briefly ( Marilyn tonight having ditched her normal jeans and Bootleg’s tour t-shirt combo for a nifty little 60’s number with kinky boots ! ) but then I really DO have to get to work. The crew here are brutally efficient, and whilst they’re standing outside with all our gear going “ What’s next to go in the van ? “ we’re still onstage trying to coil cables into the right piles, as the kit’s all going to different places tomorrow. We manage to catch up with them and avoid any dramas like leaving a key flight case behind, and then it’s a handshake goodbye and we pile on to the bus. Arthur’s done us proud….there’s champers, beer, wine, nibbles and even party bags, and the twelve of us squeeze into the back lounge of the bus and just have a couple of hours of what our Irish brethren call “ the craic “. I’m suddenly aware that this is exactly why we opted for the bus in the first place….there are no outsiders, no relatives, no family, no guests….it’s just the twelve of us, the people who did all this. Living on the bus has made us closer as a unit, and stronger too, and I’m more convinced than ever tonight that with the nucleus of this group there’s no limit to where we can take this show. Even Sunderland. I finally creep off to bed at about half past two, knowing that I’ll probably not see anyone in the morning before I leave with Arthur to take the kit back to Northamptonshire, but unlike last year at Croydon where everyone just melted off into the night after a forty – date tour, we’ve drawn a proper line under this one tonight. Now all we have to do is get back, add the figures up and see if it’s good news, bad news, or a hosepipe up the exhaust in the garage …………….

Porthcawl Grand Pavilion Sat April 2nd

The plan was to head back to Wetherspoons at 8.00am for breakfast today, but a terrible night’s sleep means that I’m glued to my bunk, and that’s the case pretty much all the way to Porthcawl. I feel as if I’ve been drugged, and just cannot seem to stir myself, at least until I get in the shower. As I slough off the carapace of crud that has enveloped me for the past thirty-odd hours, I feel invigorated and finally ready to face the day. Yet another seaside town, and today it’s blessed with bright sunshine and even a soupcon of warmth from the old currant bun, though there’s a wind which finds it’s way into your every cranny ( I said cranny ) if you’re standing in the wrong place. Despite my dulcet gorblimeyguvnor tomes, I actually hail from the north – east, and it’s thus that I fully appreciate the kindred spirits we see on the Esplanade today. In Newcastle we used to say that you could always tell when winter was on it’s way as the girls started to leave their coats at home when they went out for a night on the lash, and it’s exactly the same here….I’m leaning on the seawall talking to Arthur and Steve with the sleeves of my fleece pulled over my poor little paws to stop them from freezing, when some young thing in a vest tip and shorts enthusiastically suggests to her mates that they “ buy some cans of Coke and go and drink them on the beach “. Not only is the very sight of her in this scanty clothing enough to give me hypothermia, but I’m sure I saw a polar bear on the beach earlier on…..Porthcawl is actually quite a cool little place, at least at this end of town…the “ real “ beach is back around the headland with the funfair, Kiss Me Quick hats and daytripping families from Cardiff and Newport, all shaven heads, straining rugby shirts and casual domestic violence. The only time the pleasant Spring ambience is broken comes when a load of wannabe Hells Angels on Harleys thunder along the front, their intimidating exterior somewhat mollified by the realisation that, on closer inspection, more than a few of them are of pensionable age. ( Slight linguistic diversion….what would be the collective noun for a group of bikers ? A leather ? A shitload ? An unwashed ? A wheelie ? ). Inside the venue everything is calm efficiency, except that acoustically it has all the warmth and sonic beauty of a municipal swimming baths. It’s an odd, domed, hexagonal room, and when you clap your hands under the dome it sounds as if it’s right above your head….but move a few feet back and it’s shifted way to the right. It’s thus a longer soundcheck than normal as Arthur summons all his skill and experience to make this work. We’ve used the venue’s own PA system which, whilst adequate, isn’t really helping maters much, and for a very brief while we toy with the idea of putting our own PA in, but as there’s only an hour to doors we realise this just isn’t going to be feasible. Arthur wears the expression of a man who knows he’s going to be on turd-polishing duty tonight, but if anyone can get this place to sound good, he can. The longer soundcheck means that we have to eat almost on the hoof tonight; Nick and I manage to get into recommended local chippy Beale’s seconds before it’s inundated with the aforementioned daytrippers, whose children all seem to bear such farcical names as Turrock, Cheyenne, and Cody. We get back and the crew convene at stage left to wolf down our dinner. It’s the penultimate show of the tour tonight, but there’s another reason for celebration too, as it’s Junior’s 31st birthday. None of us could believe this as he looks about 15, but it’s true. He’s growing a Tour Beard which at least adds a couple of years to his boyish visage, but which, coupled with his flowing locks, also makes him look disconcertingly like Jesus. VERY useful on those road crew prayer meeting sessions we have each morning, mind…….We’ve marked the occasion with one of those jolly little helium balloons which we’ve moored to his monitor desk, and during the course of the show I look across the stage several times to wonder who the strange moon-faced individual standing next to Junior is, until I finally make out “ Happy Birthday “ plastered across it’s mush. D’OH ! The show tonight is, to be totally honest, a bit below par…..nothing you could put your finger on and say “ THAT was wrong “ or “ HE cocked up “ but somehow it just doesn’t gel like previous nights. There’d been a bit of a discussion at soundcheck about harmony vocal lines and so some of them had changed, and maybe THAT’S what it was, but as ever, the only people who ever notice these things are the band and crew….as far as Joe and Josephine Punter are concerned they’re seeing a fantastic show, and they react accordingly. As with Blackwood, the singing on the last two songs is stunning, and the domed roof actually seems to amplify it, so it all gets a bit Cardiff Arms Park ( and yes, I KNOW it’s not there anymore, but
“ Millennium Stadium” is just SO naff ). South Wales has been great for us, and we make a mental note to ensure we come back next time around. After the show it’s our first long overnight drive for a few days….John will leave at 2.00am – ish and aim to get to the final show of the tour at Buxton around 7.00am, but for Arthur, Nick, Rodders and myself it’s into the vans and up the road to Bromsgrove. It’s not too far but feels much further as the long climb out of Wales involves more water – replenishing stops than we’d normally make, so it’s not until about 2.40am that we finally pull into a brand new Travelodge which is cunningly concealed behind a pub and a nondescript housing estate in one of the more nondescript parts of the nondescript little town that is Bromsgrove. In fact, it’s so new that Doris the SatNav doesn’t even acknowledge it’s existence, and would blithely have guided us hither and yon had not Eagle –Eyed Nick spotted the sign as we roared past. I gratefully slump into bed, and as I close my eyes I start to think about tomorrow being the last show, how quickly the tour seems to have gone and so on. I sleepily make a mental note that I must also remember to….zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz