Weymouth Pavilion Sun Feb 21st

And so to Weymouth. When we leave the hotel in Shrewsbury we're greeted with a winter wonderland of snow, which fortunately starts to melt within a couple of miles. It's a four - hour drive at least to tonight's show, and the last thing we need is to be racing Amundsen to the South Pole as well....things are bad enough already. At this point I'd like to recommend a fantastic cure for insomnia....sit in a 7.5 ton truck which is governed at 58mph and do a 200 mile drive. It plumbs new depths of boredom hitherto unknown to man, and should only be attempted by the very foolhardy or the Bootleg Sixties' crew. And I'd like to do a little rant against our wonderful governing bodies here, too....why is it that the " easy targets " of UK- based trucks and drivers are subjected to draconian safety checks, crippling driver's hours restrictions and this bloody ridiculous 58mph limit, while clapped out Turkish artics held together by dirt, chicken shit and gaffa tape hurtle past at 70mph with Mustafa at the wheel having driven nonstop from Istanbul, mobile in one hand, kebab in the other and lines of amphetamine sulphate racked out on the dashboard ? Fortunately I'm not angry or bitter about it, as you can tell.....We finally arrive at the show, and memories of the " Heartbeat " tour come flooding back. This was the venue where that ill-fated project finally ground to a halt some years ago, and there's the loading dock where Arthur's hand and the obnoxious Aussie lighting guy's throat had an unfortunate interface. This is most definitely a happier tour than the aformentioned fiasco, but we're all a bit travel- weary today and the enthusiasm levels are low. It's nice to be back in a " proper " theatre, though, with plenty of room for everything and all the facilities we're used to, but as with Hunstanton there's something about a seaside town out of season that's innately depressing, and the theatre seems suddenly bigger and barer than it was when we arrived. We're also driving home straight after tonight's show, so the prospect of another four - hour slog isn't exactly helping the overall mood, but we send out for some very fine fish and chips and for a short while all is right with the world. The band themselves seem strangely subdued today, and at the start of the set it's almost like they're conserving energy. The audience numnbers are decent but in this big old gaff they seem lost and they're very, VERY quiet. This is new ground for us on this tour, and the band are initially a bit thrown by the lack of response. The jokes that had the audience laughing away last night are greeted by virtual silience tonight, and you can almost see the tumbleweed rolling across the stage. We're getting applause but just the odd cheer, and the weirdest thing is that we just don't know why....the band might not be operating flat out but even at three-quarter throttle they still kick the arses of anyone else out there. There's only one thing to do, and that's just carry on. From my little hidey-hole at the side of the stage I can see the odd person clapping their hands or nodding along, but this is as far removed from last night's audience love-in as a politician's words are from the truth. We're almost relieved when the interval comes, and Manchester United fan Den does a Fergie and gives the others a bit of the old hairdryer treatment in the dressing room. It's not popular but it seems to work, though, as the second half is much more positive, and you can actually see the lads raising their game. ( That's the end of the football analogies, by the way ). Technically we're having a bit of a 'mare....there seems to be an issue with the speakers at stage left but we can't find out what the problem is, and everyone's so tired that even the little problems seem more serious. It's all I can do to keep awake even though the band are belting though You Really Got Me just yards away, but soon the finishing line's in sight, and the band have somehow just about warmed the audience up...and then two songs from the end Steve's bass drum pedal falls over just as the band drop into the accapella section of Daydream Believer. He can't fix it and can't catch Nick's eye, so he has to run offstage to get Nick, and suddenly tempers flare. The problem's quickly fixed and Steve finishes the set, but it's a sour note to end on and it's all very uncomfortable for a while. Now here's the mental bit....as the audience leave we hear lots of them talking about it being the best show they've seen for a while, wasn't it great and so on....We decide that we'd really rather not be here with a band they DON'T like, and load out the gear in record time before heading for home. Now, not all that long ago I'd have happily jumped behind the wheel and done this in one hit stopping only for fuel and a bag of finest Quavers, but I'm older, wearier, and generally more crap these days, so I gratefully hand the keys to the Pugster, climb in the back of the car and am snoring and dribbling within minutes of setting off. We've arranged to rendezvous with Arthur and Rodders in the truck at the M3 services near Southampton, so I manage to drag myself into consciousness when we arrive and go to fuel up with some chocolate and tea. There now follows something of a blank, Faithful Blogreader. I apparently drove back to Bedford from there, but have no recollection of this whatsoever...though if my fellow travellers are reading this, I was razor - sharp and wide awake the whole time... We finally get home just before 5.00am, and not for the first time I reflect on the unremitting glamour and glitz of life in the music business. I sit down to do the blog but it's not reallyzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz