Eastbourne Congress Theatre Sat March 26th

Having cleaned myself up from last night I head down for a “ Lite Bite “ breakfast of two eggs, four sausages, eight rashers of bacon, a mound of beans and mushrooms and two slices of toast. Well, I’m a growing lad…..Despite all the cross – country shenanigans last night we’re very happy we made part of the journey when we did as we crawl with infinite slowness round a car – jammed Brighton, and then run into Eastbourne’s own traffic. As a result of the hold – ups the truck arrives fifteen minutes late for load – in, prompting the wags on the crew to ask me and Rodders if we’d gone via Dunstable again. Hilarious. The Congress Theatre is another big, wide bugger…stage left is so far away it has it’s own postcode but it’s a nice, flat push onto the stage, and everything rockets up. The projector images are HUUUUUUGE tonight as we can get them exactly where we want them, and it really looks impressive….yet another taste of what the future could hold. We’re ready for the band in good time today, which means they can grab some more much – needed rehearsal time for their German trip. They’re actually sounding a lot better already, and the medleys don’t have the same train – smash impact on your ears anymore as the band have cleverly managed to come up with transitions that smooth them out. Only the oddball waltz schmaltz of What’s New Pussycat sets the teeth on edge still, and Jamie, who has to sing it, still laughs at it almost every time he steps up to the microphone. Thankfully it’s only about ten seconds long. Don’t get me wrong….it’s nothing to do with the band, they play it fine….it’s just WEIRD, and trying to fit it into a convincing bass / drums / guitar format makes your brain hurt. We have this vision of some random German TV producer sitting in a little room with his Book of 1960’s Hits, picking out the maddest and going “ Ja, ZIS von vill REALLY screw up zose Englander schnitzels “. Back to the Congress Theatre and the lads are ready to wrap up the soundcheck, which means that as we’re at the seaside, it can only be time for fish and chips again…YAY ! Rather than getting something caught fresh today off the coast, though, the only place open nearby is the homogenised, franchised, sanitised Harry Ramsden’s. Now I can’t knock old Harry ( he’s dead anyway ) but I once went to his original place ( HA ! Place ! Fish shop ! Plaice !! Geddit ?? Sigh……) with an old girlfriend ( I mean it was a long time ago, not that she was old ) and the most wonderful cod, chips and mushy peas. The fact that I can remember the meal but not the name of the girlfriend says a lot about the quality of the food ( it also says a lot about me, I think, so let’s move on… ). Anyway, Harry Ramsden’s circa 2010 is absolutely fine if you’re A) Dying of starvation or B) Have run out of cardboard. The pre-packed meals are actually made in somewhere like Korea these days using Croatian cod and Czech chips, so that “ Genuine taste of Yorkshire “ is probably something they sprinkle on it from a can as it speeds down the assembly line. However, it fills a gap, and I’ve ALWAYS got a gap. But enough of this fishy tale…..back to the show. Once again it’s a decent house….nearly four hundred and fifty…..and you can forget all that bobbins about Eastbourne being God’s waiting room. This is a lively lot, and they’re anything but superannuated. Although we’re only one show from the end of this marathon, there’s no reflection of that in the band’s performance, and if anything they’ve been energised by last night’s show in Marlborough. We can’t really get away with reprising Spirit In The Sky here, though, so it’s the normal set, the only hiccup being the light failing in the Black Box Of Bafflement when Phil does the “ Hank “ gag, but that kind of stuff doesn’t scare us anymore….Rodders just picks him up with another light and off we go. We get the now almost mandatory standing ovation, and it’s back to the Big Sleep hotel for our Nearly – End – Of – Tour drink. Steve, Jamie and Chris’s wives are here too, so it’s a nice family vibe as we take over the lounge. We can’t really cane it tonight as we’ve got a show tomorrow, of course, but it’s just good to all be in the same room together for once and to share a beer and chew the fat. The main topic of conversation seems to be what traditional end-of-tour pranks we’re going to pull on the band on the last show tomorrow night, and one by one the lads slope ( a little nervously ! ) off to bed , leaving only Steve “ King Cognac “ Phypers to hold the fort. It would be VERY easy to just say “ Ah, sod it….there’s only one more show “ and REALLY tie one on tonight, because we’ve totally earned it., but there are too many pro’s about for that to happen. Mrs Phypers, the lovely Jill, shepherds her spouse up the apples and pears before things can get too messy, leaving just the crew to think of increasingly mental ideas for tomorrow night, including such flights of fancy as gorilla masks, Batman and Robin suits, and human heads in the Black Box, and we’re having, as the Irish would say, a mighty craic, until someone points out that it’s nearly three o’clock, and we really SHOULD be hitting the hay. It’s only at this point that these six intelligent men realise that they’ll all forgotten the clocks went forward at midnight….so it’s actually nearly FOUR o’clock. AAAGGHH !!!! Cue much scraping of furniture and toppling of chairs as we bail out with the speed of many antelope and head upstairs to grab some ( now foreshortened ) shuteye…..
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Marlborough Theatre On The Hill, Fri March 26th

We’re back down in Wiltshire today, just across the M4 from Swindon, in picturesque Marlborough. Tonight’s show is an unusual one in that it’s at a school; St John’s Community College, a brand spankers new hi – tech complex with it’s own theatre, the Theatre On The Hill. We’re VERY nervous about this one; we’ve not been able to get any of the technical information back about it and have no idea whatsoever what to expect. Our suspicions are confirmed when Arthur rings us as on the way down; they haven’t got the basic power we need to run the show and are having to hire in some cable and feed it in from a different part of the building. Not a good start. When we get there the place is amazing, and looks more like a university than a school. At first glance the theatre is a great little room, until we realise that, apart from the power, none of the lighting bars move, there are no lights actually above the stage, there aren’t any stagehands, the houselights are controlled by wall switches in the hall itself so you have to run down from stage to switch them on and off and we have to wheel everything through the cavernous reception area to reach the theatre. In front of the stage is a gap of about four metres before the seats start, so it’s like playing across a moat. In addition their drum and keyboard risers are made up of what seem like a load of coffee tables joined together, and they’re very big and very high. We have to take the decision to get rid of them totally, which raises the ire of a chap in a tie and ID badge who is something to do with Building Facilities. This jolly fellow had put the risers out earlier and isn’t best pleased about having to take them away again, which he lets us know about with much huffing and puffing. The rest of the people here are really nice, though, and Rob, the house tech is almost ridiculously helpful, plus we’re now used to dealing with curveballs. It’s still a slow, slow process, however…..the central projector can’t be hung on the normal bar as it’s just too close to the stage and effectively silhouettes Steve against the screen; as a result we have to hang it from a bar in the main hall which is so high I get a nosebleed when I try and go up the ladder. Mr Health & Safety would probably have a coronary if he could see Rob take the projector off me and shin up the longest ladder I’ve ever seen like a monkey on crystal meth. Rather him than me, say I….a person of my size is just not designed to be that far off the ground; I’m built for sitting on sofas with cups of tea and big bars of chocolate. The upshot of all this fannying about is that the lads don’t have much time to soundcheck, and they’re anxious to keep practising all the stuff for Germany, but it can’t be helped….the power issue takes ages to resolve as it turns out to be a can of not only worms, but snakes, beetles and nasty big spiders as well, but Rodders manages to resolve things with a combination of various leads, plugs, string, glue and spit. We also know the show hasn’t sold as well as the school had hoped; we’re only the second professional visiting company to visit and they haven’t got the profile in the area that they need yet. All of this means that we’re not sure how things are going to go tonight, but we’re just going to have to give it our best shot. The school are certainly making the effort; they’ve set up a little bar in the reception area and have got some of the older kids running the door and being ushers….now all we need is an audience ! As it turns out a decent number of folks arrive, and the thing that’s most apparent is how eager they all are to see the show as they come in…maybe this is going to be OK after all. Right at the beginning of this blogfest I talked about how the shows you look forward to often disappoint, while the ones you’re dreading turn out be to stonkers. Tonight is most definitely in the latter category. What these folks lack in numbers they make up for in enthusiasm, and we’ve got them dancing within a couple of numbers. By the time we get to the
“ party “ section there’s a pretty solid press of people in the “ moat “, and Den has the great idea of adding another song at the end; it’s the first time we’ve done it but this is definitely the kind of place where it’ll work. The song choice is a masterstroke; they go for Spirit In The Sky, and absolutely tear the roof off the place. I’ve heard them play this a few times before but tonight is just a killer, killer version; everyone on the place is going mental and the band are unstoppable; by the end the crowd are just greasy spots on the floor and even the crew are yelling for more ! We’ve probably never had as many people come up to us after the show and literally PLEAD for us to come back again….the other nice thing is that this is going to help the school get their events off the ground as the word will definitely go out that it’s a good place to come to. Their attitude is excellent, because they realise there are technical shortcomings here, and rather than hide behind them Kate and Rob literally come up to us with pen and paper in hand afterwards for our comments and suggestions as to how they can improve things here. THAT’S the sort of approach you need, and we’ll happily come back here again to play for these lovely people. As it’s a long haul to Eastbourne tomorrow we’ve decided that the crew will go part of the way tonight, and the chosen destination is Southampton. Rodders and I borrow Lid’s satnav but I can’t even get the bloody thing to switch on at first, and by the time I’ve worked it out, everyone’s left us behind, so we ease the truck out into the leafy lanes of Wiltshire and set off for Southampton airport, which was the nearest destination I could get the machine to accept. Now, I’m not really a fan of satnavs anyway, and my dislike it compounded as the infernal thing directs us along increasingly smaller and tighter lanes. Twenty minutes in to the journey and we are, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere, in pitch darkness. I try to call Lids and Pug to get them to look at the map for us, but we don’t have phone signal either. We’re on our own, and we’re well and truly snookered, so we just have to inch on through the night regardless. Suddenly Rodders says thoughtfully, “ Tone, I think we’re on Salibury Plain…..” “ Why do you think that ? “ I reply. “ Because we’ve just gone over a crossing for tanks “ he says. He’s right. We’re in Armoured Warfare Central, and it suddenly comes to me that the British Army fight most of their battles at night. It therefore follows that they must TRAIN at night, and so the next ten miles or so are spent on the edge of our seats, waiting for a twenty – ton Challenger tank to roar up and squish us, or else blow us off the road. Luckily we make the main road without mishap, and apart from a slight “ going the wrong way up the motorway “ hiccup, finally make the hotel at 2.00am. It’s been a bit of a stressful twenty – fours hours, and so I sleep like a baby ( in other words I cry all night and wet my pants…..)

Haverhill Arts Centre Thurs March 25th

Although we don’t get back from Crewe until silly o’clock this morning I’m wide awake at 7.00am with budgets, payments, invoices and bills all jostling for position in my ( totally knackered ) head. Each time I manage to knock one of them out, another creeps in through my lughole or somewhere and I’m off again. Unfortunately this has been my mental default setting for most of the tour and I have to say that it’s a smidgeon wearing, but the finishing line is in sight now, so I’ll just keep drinking my daily pint of absinthe and I’m sure I’ll be fine. We’re in the sleepy little town of Haverhill today, and thanks to an overestimation of how long it’d take to get here we have half an hour to grab some nosebag before load – in. Gay bars are a bit thin on the ground round these parts, so we make do with Gregg’s bakers, and I’m here to tell you that I thoroughly recommend their chilli beef lattice, Faithful Blogreader. Piquant, with just a subtle overtone of cumin and a dash of jalapeno, the pastry is light and flaky, and made to be savoured. I eat mine in one mouthful, but you get the picture.
We’ve sold out tonight, and discover when we arrive that they’ve also sold our “ company “ seats, the ones we use for our guests. Apparently a clause in their contract says that if they haven’t heard from us within a week of the show they can sell them, but I get a soupcon pissed off at this point by the intimation that I’m going to be able to recall every clause from forty – three contracts, most of which were signed about two months ago. Fortunately it doesn’t escalate into anything unpleasant as the house decide they can put our guests up in the balcony next to Arthur and Rodders. Sorted. It’s quite a small stage so we’re all a bit cosy, but this usually means we get a more powerful show. There’s still a lot of rehearsal going on today for this German TV show which has started to loom over the band like some huge, German looming thing, and the only good thing from our point of view is that we get to hear lots of snippets of new songs we’ve not heard the band play before. From THEIR point of view it’s a constant wrestling match, trying to force unsuitable songs together into medleys chosen by the TV folks, or working new starts and finishes into songs they’ve been playing a different way for years. Had this arisen at the start of the tour we’d have been Donald Ducked as they were still so focused on the show, and soundchecks were long, methodical affairs. These days the actual band soundcheck is knocked off in minutes to allow them the maximum rehearsal opportunity; they can literally do it in their sleep. The familiarity with the show reaches new heights for me tonight as well; I can’t find my set list so for the first time I do the whole thing from memory. Which accounts for all the mistakes.
We also have our first major potential gig-killing event….about six songs in, Steve looks up and over at us in alarm; the main bolt on his bass drum pedal has sheared right through, and there’s no spare. A drummer can no more play a show without a bass drum pedal than a guitarist could play a show without strings, so this is a terminal problem. Nick dives onstage and takes the pedal off to see if he can carry out some sort of repair, leaving Steve to try and soldier on. The lad’s a trouper, though….not only does he manage to get through two whole songs, he also plays his drum solo in Pretty Woman, and more to the point, does the whole thing pretty bloody well, and with a smile on his face. As with the soundchecks, this is something that might not have been possible when we started the tour, but Steve takes a cataclysmic kick in the cods like this totally in his stride now, and gets the applause he deserves at the end. A special mention must also be made of the tour’s real unsung hero, our very own Nick Liddard, father of Lids and general wonderbloke. Whereas I’d personally have reacted to the bass drum breakage by sitting in a corner and weeping hopelessly, he somehow finds a bolt and wingnut which will fit, and whips it into the pedal tout suite, literally saving the show. I make a mental note to buy him a Crunchie. Collapsing drum hardware apart, it’s actually a wicked show tonight…folks are up and dancing at the front of the stage , but there’s also one character in the crowd who used to come to Overtures gigs, jump up onstage and make an arse of himself; Nick keeps a close eye on him in case he repeats these antics but I take a slightly more draconian approach to security by firing off the flame projector pyrotechnic just as he looks as though he’s walking towards the steps at the side of the stage. Barnet suitably singed, he sits back down and we don’t hear another peep. We’re also graced by the presence of the three “ tired and emotional “ ladies from the Stevenage show, this time all wearing cute little matching pink and black quartered sleeveless minidresses. Alcohol may been involved again as one of them keels over while dancing and hits the floor like a sack of spuds, but apart from all the ribald heckling, knicker – flashing, general misbehaviour and falling over drunk they’re no bother. We also discover they were the source of the underwear thrown onto the stage at Stevenage as we see them hurl yet more scanties this time; there must have been some chilly buttocks on the way back to wherever they live…It’s Clive’s last show of the tour tonight, and that really brings home the fact that this is nearly all over, especially when he says his goodbyes to the band and I think “ That’ll be me in three days “. Dartford Orchard seems like it happened a lifetime ago, and yet at the same time the tour’s just flashed by….now how does THAT happen ? I’m musing on such metaphysical concepts as we leave the venue for the shortish drive home, only to be brought crashing back to reality by the incessant glowing of the “ Refuel Now “ light on my car dashboard. I check the onboard mission control computer to see the mileage left in the fuel tank, and it yields a big fat zero…Ah. “ No worries “ I think, “ We’ll fill up at that Sainsbury’s superstore on the way in. Not so bloody super, as it turns out, however…as with everything else in Haverhill it’s closed, and I mean CLOSED….we don’t see another car on the road or person on the street. It’s just like the film 28 Days Later. Only at night. And not in London. And without zombies. This could be a disaster. I phone the local police to ask if they know of a 24 hour garage in the area, and after a short delay of only about a year the nice lady on the phone finds one and “ talks me in “ to it. It’s closed. She then tells me the only other one is ten miles away and wishes me good luck. Thanks, Suffolk Constabulary. We’ve no option but to put up the sail, cross our fingers and do forty miles an hour. Amazingly we make it, but the Death Stares I get from Rodders and Pug who are in the car with me bore holes into my skull all the way home. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…….

Crewe Lyceum Wed March 24th

There’s a little bit of history about today’s show; Crewe Lyceum was where we did our very first” proper “ Bootleg Sixties show outside of Broxbourne. In those days we were just playing with the format and it was totally “ seat of the pants “ stuff….we had absolutely no idea if anyone was going to come and see us, or if they’d like it, and the whole thing was a total leap of faith. As it happens we did pretty well ( significantly better than the 40 people that a top Hendrix tribute act had drawn earlier than week, anyway ! ) and it confirmed to us that we had actually something that was worth developing. Two and a half years on and we’re coming back with a show that’s light years away from that slightly hesitant debut, and even the way the house crew react to us is different; they’ve heard of us now, so there’s an element of respect that might have been missing before. As it’s only an hour or so from Preston we get here a bit early today and so decide to grab some grub before the load-in, and we find a pub – cum- restaurant thing almost next door to the gig advertising a “ small breakfast” for just £ 2.00. Being a bunch of tightwads we reason that this is the perfect place, so in we troop. At first we don’t really notice the predominantly pink décor or the peacock hairstyle of the barman, but as we look around and speak to the staff it soon dawns on us that, yes, we’ve managed to wander into the only gay bar in Crewe. Not a problem in itself, but the food takes well over half an hour to arrive, by which time the truck has pulled up and the load – in has to start. When the house crew see where we’ve been it raises a few eyebrows and a couple of them even edge slightly away, so we start talking loudly in deep voices about beer, rugby and shagging , and soon all is well. This is a great little theatre but here’s a rake on the stage so steep it that makes you feel as if you’re walking up a bloody great hill, or if you’re going across the stage it’s like being on the deck of a ship, as you have to counter the slope with this kind of rolling gait ( or have one leg shortened, of course ). The other aspect of all this incline – related fun is that our equipment is going all Isaac Newton on our asses, and is desperately trying to give in to the pull of gravity and hurl itself off the stage into the orchestra pit. It all comes in to the building quite nicely, but within about ten minutes there’s a chuffin’ great Tetris of flight cases all jostling, lemming – like, for prime position at the lip of the stage. The house lads are used to it, of course, and sort things out by the simple expedient of screwing two large planks across the stage. Lo- tec it may be, but it saves our gear from committing collective suicide. We’ve arranged with the band that they can come in early today and use some soundcheck time to rehearse the German TV stuff. I must admit I thought that they were just doing a few numbers backing the guest stars and so on ( if you can “ just “ do such a thing on a programme that goes out to millions of viewers ), but it seems that our Teutonic brethren, hilarious funsters that they are, have thought it’d be a wizard wheeze to have the lads play a kind of musical chairs thing as part of what appears to a quiz; they’ll play a snippet of a song, the host will ask a searching question, like “ what’s the next word after this;” Strawberry Fields….??”, then the band will play the snippet with the answer. Genius ! Not only does it mean they have to learn almost an entire set of twenty – second versions of songs, but the show is also, of course, going to be in German, so they’re not going to have a Scooby – Doo what’s going on, and yet are expected to hit all these sharp cues. As Arthur’s going to be with them we look at the chances of him learning enough Deutsch by next Tuesday to be able to translate for them, but in the end we decide we’re going to ask for a bi-lingual (attitudes to that sort of thing are SO much more relaxed on the Continent, don’t you think ? ) and get them to do something technical like hoist a thumb aloft at the appropriate moment. It’s a load more work for them than I realised, and they’ve really only got the remaining tour soundchecks to knock this into shape as they’re off to Munich literally right after the tour. The last thing Jamie and Den need is to be caning their voices for another couple of hours each day, but needs must when the devil vomits into your kettle, as Edmund Blackadder used to say. On to the show, then, and we’ve doubled our attendance from last time, which again vindicates this whole shooting match. The lads are on good form tonight as well, and when Den spots a group of people in the royal box he gives a little bow and plays up to “ Her Maj “. These poor folks also get a shock when I fire off my pyrotechnics in Light My Fire; for a start they’re not expecting a jet of flame to shoot up from just underneath them and singe their eyebrows, but for some reason the detonator cap of this particular firework flies out of the firing tube and arcs beautifully right into their box, prompting much leaping up, stamping of feet and brushing down of clothes. We do like to involve our audience but perhaps we should stop short of trying to immolate them….We have a lovely surprise just as the second half goes up; a hand comes through the curtain behind me and hands me a large round box of Celebrations chocolates. Taped to the top is a little “ thankyou “ note from Geoff, Glyn and Sheila at Market Drayton Festival Centre. I open the box, and far from being anything as mundane as chocolates (which I’d still have gratefully scarfed anyway ) it turns out to be one of Sheila’s wonder cakes, a coffee and walnut confection of total beauty. As everyone else in the camp hears about this over the comms, Clive and I realise that we’re going to have to circle the wagons to prevent a flock of gannets descending on us. In the end our rearguard action is all for nothing….we manage to paff a slice each but then the container is kidnapped by the band as we’re doing the loadout. DENIED ! Despite this tragic loss, it’s been a great night, though, so we’re not TOO fazed about the fact that the M6 is closed when we leave Crewe and we have to divert via Aberdeen or somewhere equally bloody inconvenient….after all, sleep is for the weak, isn’t it….??

Preston Charter Theatre Tue March 23rd

It’s the long haul up to Preston today, and it’s not a happy camp as we set out. There have been some personal and professional problems which have arisen for some of the tour party over the last couple of days which have cast something of a shadow over things, and we also have some pretty unhappy memories of Preston; last time we were here a couple of years ago we found that, due to a booking error, we were doing the cavernous Guildhall, instead of the more intimate Charter Theatre next door where we’re playing tonight. We didn’t have a bad crowd considering, but they were lost in that huge room more suited to world snooker finals and the like. To add to the fun that day my car was broken into while it was in the loading bay and Arthur’s satnav was stolen., so I spent the afternoon the nice man from Autoglass having the window replaced ( I was picking glass shards out of my bum for about three weeks
afterwards ). Since then I’ve been back here with the Israeli dance show Aluminum, and that was a nightmare of a gig, so it’s with some trepidation that we pull up outside. The get-in’s no fun either, as everything has to go up in a small lift onto the first floor, but the house crew lads are friendly and welcoming and luckily it all goes pretty painlessly. We have a protracted visit from the gremlins today, though, and the little buggers seem to get everywhere. When Clive sparks up the main show laptop it becomes clear it’s got a virus, which is pretty weird as it’s never used for anything other than the show and doesn’t ever get connected to the net. We can only assume it was infected by a memory stick that was used to load on the “ local footage “ pictures in Dunstable, but however it happened Clive’s got to take it off downstairs where he can get wi – fi so he can try and clean it up. Jamie’s amp then starts picking up a bizarre regular beeping signal, and we go through the options to try and get rid of it, all to no avail. When Phil’s starts doing the same a while later we can only conclude that it’s an alien life form trying to contact us from a distant planet, but in the end it turns out to be the rather more prosaic signal sent out by the building’s fire alarm system which some electric guitars pick up. As they won’t switch off the fire alarm
( spoilsports ) we just have to get on with it. Steve then starts having a problem with his monitors, and we have to break soundcheck to try and sort this out, all of which eats further into the hour and a half or so we have to play with. The band are also trying to use this time to rehearse for the German TV show, so things get a bit tense as six thirty gets nearer. In the end Den realises that there’s not really the concentration that the process needs, so the band call it a day and we agree an earlier soundcheck start in Crewe tomorrow. By the time the audience start coming in we’ve just about got everything working and so our one remaining worry is Jamie’s voice. He says he feels OK but he developed a cold over the weekend and that’s a worry, He holds back in soundcheck but there’s a big burden on him in the show and it really is a case of just seeing what happens. We’re also a bit disappointed in the house; after we played here last time we made a really good impression and that’s why we’re back today, but it becomes clear that we’ve picked up almost exactly the same number of people this time round. This is only the second time on the tour where we haven’t significantly improved on numbers from a previous visit and it IS a pisser, especially as both have come at the end of long journeys, first to Llandudno and now here. The audience are a receptive lot, though, and of course the boys have learned the Weymouth Lesson now. They’re a bit cagey about Jamie’s voice, to be honest, but apart from a few rough-edged bits here and there he’s actually doing fine. I ask them at the interval if they think they’ll need to pull any of his songs from the second half and the reaction is “ No, we’ll be OK “, which is good news, and again I think back the early days of the tour and the panic we felt when Den’s voice was going. We were restructuring entire sets to cope with it then, but now it’s a total “ can do “ attitude….in fact I think Jamie was more upset about the fact that I hadn’t brought him an ice cream like the one I was eating when I walked into the dressing room ! Touring DEFINITELY changes everything……Into the second half and Jamie’s as good as his word, getting through some tough songs, but it’s still with a sense of relief that we bring the curtain down at the end. It’s been a hard day today. As we’ve already learned it’s not easy getting back into the swing when there’s been a little break, though I must say we’ve done pretty well today in the light of some tricky circumstances. There’s a nice family touch tonight too as Pug’s Gran has come to the show and has really enjoyed it….she gives her “ Snugglemuffin “ a hug and tells him she’s proud of him before brushing his hair , wiping a dirty mark off his face with her hankie and telling him to wash his hands before dinner. We’re staying with those wonderful Travelodge people again tonight and it becomes immediately clear that they work on different miles to the rest of us…the hotel is apparently 4.6 miles from Preston central. As we pass the eight mile mark we start to question the veracity of the Travelodge website, and when we see the herds of moose crossing the tundra we know they’ve definitely sold us a wrong ‘un. Eventually we find the hotel and to our relief English is still spoken here despite the remoteness of the location. It’s got everything we need….a bed, a shower and an ice cream machine in the foyer. SORTED !!!

Dunstable Grove Theatre Fri March 19th

A bit of a Twilight Zone moment happened this morning, and once again I’m attributing it to residual shaggedoutedness. As Transmedia has been based in Bedford for yonks, we’ve had occasion to come to Dunstable many times, so Doris’s guidance is deemed unnecessary today. Rodders and I duly clamber in the truck and headed off. To avoid the fun and games of the A421, which is being turned into dual carriageway and currently resembles the Somme just after a major bombardment, we head down the A6 and chuck a right just outside Luton. “ Dunstable five miles “, the sign tells us, so we wend our way through street after street. After street. After street. Another sign pops up, and this time we’re only two miles away. We then pick up the signs for Town Centre and dutifully follow them. I’m a smidge concerned by the fact that I don’t actually recognise anywhere, but figure it can be only a matter of time before I see a landmark. We carry on, and it’s though as I’ve been dropped into a town I’ve never seen before. “ This just can’t be right “ I tell Rodders as two miles slips by, then three. “ I’ve been here loads of times but I don’t know this place “. Suddenly we see another sign for the town centre and we reckon we’ve finally cracked it…..but when we get there the town centre turns out to be Luton. Somehow Dunstable has disappeared, although we went right through it, apparently, and now we don’t know where we are and we’re late. The hardest part is that I don’t seem to be able to get my brain to function properly; years and years of touring round the world has left me with a pretty well-developed sense of direction and I hardly ever get lost, especially around somewhere familiar…..but I haven’t a Scooby where we are and I’m actually starting to panic a bit. Luckily we DO finally hit a road I know and we quickly get to the show twenty minutes late. I’ll leave you to imagine the ribbing we got for getting lost on the way to a local show……Once we’re finally here we remember how much we love The Grove; you can actually bring the truck inside the building and drop your kit straight onto the stage, plus it’s got lighting bars for days, a fantastic in – house PA system and it’s big, wide and mucho posho. Despite our tardiness everything flies up quickly and we set the house crew the Crème Egg Challenge; if we can beat our record load – out time of fifty – four minutes then we’ll buy them a whole henload of Crème Eggs. We’ve only had a couple of places get anywhere near that time since the record was set, but they’re a game lot here so the bet is laid ( eggs, laid….geddit ? ). Soundcheck is a bit of a treat for the old rock dinosaurs among our number; Jamie has been delayed by traffic so the guys give us some classic rock stuff; Sunshine Of Your Love, Purple Haze, a stonking All Along The Watchtower, Born To Be Wild and….errr…The Archies’ Sugar Sugar. Fair gladdens yer heart !! Fast forward to seven thirty pm, and we’ve got yet another good crowd tonight, with a serious sprinkling of wild and wacky Sixties outfits. One chap is particularly vocal and when Den spots him in his “ Jimmy Saville “ clobber he gets the guy up to take a bow. This is DEFINITELY what we want much more of; some of these folks look absolutely brilliant and we need to be acknowledging it somehow. Some brainstorming called for, methinks. It really is a great audience tonight, just like Aldershot they’re loud and appreciative and totally behind us….in fact, it’s shaping up to be one of the best shows so far, and by the interval we think we’ve got it nailed. WRONNNGGGGG !!!!! Although things start well enough when the lights go back down, we’re on course for a serious kick in the cods. Just as the band go into the first number of the “ psychedelic section “, the click track “ in Steve’s headphones disappears, leaving him unable to hear the metronome that helps him keep everything together on these two songs. Whilst Pug and Tomps rapidly check connections and leads to try and find the fault, poor Steve has to play quieter and quieter in order to try and somehow pick up the click. This is a nightmare situation….you can’t just stop and start again as it’s all tied in to the visuals, so Steve has to simply fight his way through the two – song section. That he makes it to the end without everything falling apart says a lot about his ability, but it’s unnerved everyone and although the audience don’t seem to have noticed, the band are definitely shaken. Worse is to come, though. Without warning, as Jamie gets about three quarters of the way through Handbags & Gladrags his voice suddenly goes. There’d been no wobble…it just happened. He’s a pro, of course, and instead of panicking he dropped the pitch of the last chorus of the song and made it to the end. We’ve still got Pinball Wizard, He Ain’t Heavy and Mony Mony to go, all of which feature him heavily, and the tension in the crew is almost palpable. I’m not sure what Jamie does offstage during the VT insert before Pinball but it must involve gargling with some kind of magic potion, because he manages to make a decent fist of the song and gets most of the harmonies on He Ain’t Heavy, but by Mony Mony he’s struggling again, and Den steps into the breach. Luckily the last two songs are both Den’s lead vocal, and finally we’ve made it. Judging by the crowd’s response they’re not in the slightest bit aware of what’s been going on, and despite everything that’s happened we’ve done it yet again. They’re standing up, shouting, clapping, yelling for more, and it’s totally, totally brilliant. Afterwards I ask Jamie how he’s feeling, and he’s totally puzzled about what happened. He says he feels fine and doesn’t have a sore throat, but that the upper register just wasn’t there when he went for it. The only consolation is that we’ve got a couple of days break now, and past that the end of the tour is just over a week away. It would be tragic to cut everything short after going through so much and coming so far with everything, but all we can do now is dose the lad with jollop, put him in solitary and cross our fingers……….

Aldershot Princes Hall, Thurs March 18th

Before we get into today’s jollities, I need to mention a surreal event from a couple of shows ago that I’d forgotten to share with you. We were at the crucial point right at the start…the lights had gone down, the intro insert was playing and we were all set to go. Suddenly Tomp’s urgent voice came over my headphones….” Tony, the nu – nu’s not in it’s box ! “ Now, I’ve heard some odd things in my time in this game, but that one takes the mottled oyster. Initially I thought the boy had totally taken leave of his senses, but then I followed his pointing finger and realised that he meant the vacuum cleaner hose from the smoke machine hadn’t been connected to the Black Box Of Bafflement. Where nu – nu came into the equation was still a mystery, but I’ve since been reliably informed that Nu-Nu is the name of the little hoover that incessantly cleans the Teletubbies’ house, and this, ladies and gentlemen, is the legacy of too many hours spent in front of Children’s BBC. Be warned….it can make you talk absolute bobbins. But enough weirdness….today we’re off to Aldershot to do a show for band friend and all – round diamond geezer John Martin. We played here for John a year or so back and it was great, and we hear that tonight’s done about five hundred tickets already, which is fantastic. We knew that we’d be going through a whole mess of roadworks and so set off early, and as always happens in these situations we sail right through and get to the gig an hour early. Luckily the house crew lads are also there ahead of time, so we get stuck in and start unloading. Another slightly surreal thing interrupts the process. After the Boston show we were given a “comedy stool” by Kip, the house tech, and have been using this three-legged milking – stool jobbie in the acoustic section ever since. However, it’s not the sturdiest piece of furniture that’s ever been made, and after a few weeks of going in and out of the truck and being flung across the stage by Steve it’s actually in three pieces, so we consign it to one of the venue’s rubbish bins. Then out of the blue in mid – load we get an agitated call from Arthur. He’s had Kip on the phone and apparently it turns out that this manky little chair is some kind of family heirloom which should never have been given to us in the first place. Kip’s been frantically trying to track us down to see if we still have it and is hugely relieved when it turns out we do. So important is this thing that he’s driving to Haverhill from Boston next week to collect it from us ! We tactfully fail to mention it’s somewhat fragmented state, and make a mental note to buy a tube of No More Nails tomorrow. You really DO have to see this battered, oft – repaired bit of timber to appreciate the full oddness of the request, but as they say, there’s nowt as queer as folk….But enough of this weirdness. The Princes Hall in Aldershot is a nice little theatre of about six hundred seats, perfect for us and this tour, and apart from the faff of having to get everything up to the stage level in a goods lift it’s well – appointed and cosy. We get the soundcheck out of the way quickly today as the band are having to do some more rehearsing for the German TV show; this time they’ve been asked to wrangle together a couple of medleys from a somewhat odd choice of numbers supplied by the programme’s producers, who clearly have a musical ear that’s on a par with their nation’s reputation for humour and knockabout comedy. There are wild tempo and key changes involved, and trying to get this into some kind of flowing order is like herding cats at first, but by the end of a brainstorming session the lads have come up with a structure that doesn’t sound like the fevered noodlings of some schizo nutjob. They’re getting decent pay for this TV thing but, by Satan’s trousers, they’re having to work for it. A near sold – out gig’s going to be a breeze after this, and so it proves….in fact I’d go so far as to say this is one of the top two or three shows on the tour, and easily the best received by a very vocal and partisan crowd. It looks great tonight, too…for once there’s no air conditioning to suck the haze away from Rodder’s machines, so it hangs on the stage and picks out all the sharp beams and hot colours of the lights. It looks….ROCK !! Each song is greeted not just with applause but with a proper, roaring cheer, and the strongest impression is that these good people are definitely here to see THIS band and THIS show because they’re fans, and not just because they might have read about it or seen it on a website somewhere. The band respond magnificently, and not even the honksome act of a poorly punter projectile vomiting over three rows of seats at the interval can take the gloss off tonight. The place is duly washed, mopped, disinfected and fumigated and the hapless recipients of the technicolour yawn taken to the sheep – dip, but despite the lingering odour ( so reminiscent of school corridors, for some unearthly reason ) we’re not to be denied, and somewhere into the early part of the second set the whole thing just takes flight. Steve’s playing as if his life depends on it ( at the end of the set I’ll notice that he’s been hammering the bass drum so hard that his entire drumkit AND the carpet it sits on have been pushed forward nearly a foot, and are right on the verge of toppling off the riser ) while Jamie and Den are in great voice. At stage right Phil throws shapes and reels off lines of sparkling guitar, and at the back Chris is in perpetual motion, one moment pounding his keys, the next doing serious damage to tambourines and other bits of his percussion gear, grinning widely all the while. This is more like a homecoming gig by conquering heroes than a random Thursday night in Aldershot, and it’s bloody brilliant. As the band head off afterwards to meet the fans we start the laborious de-rig process, but tonight we’re buoyed up by knowing that we’ve been part of something special, and even the fact that it’s drizzling when we get the gear outside doesn’t dampen our spirits. It’s obviously the second night of the Roadworks Jubilee and this time the celebration of these yellow – clad, nocturnal denizens of the dark extends up the M1 and closes the A421 totally, but somehow the flashing lights and jaunty apparel seem in keeping with the celebratory mood and for once we refrain from trying to run them over and screaming for the head of the Minister Of Transport to be displayed atop a traffic cone. Even Arthur’s van ( which is well into the overdraft facility of it’s borrowed time on this earth and had steadfastly refused to start for him tonight ) yielded to my inexpert ministrations and fired up first time after the Laying On Of Hands And General Wiggling Things About Under The Bonnet. Tomorrow’s another day and all that gubbins, but tonight belongs to us, and we can do no wrong. Are you listening, Rock Gods ??? I SAID “ WE CAN DO NO WRONG !!!! “

Basildon Towngate Wed March 17th

Basildon Towngate Wed March 17th

There’s no doubt about it….when you’ve had a break of even a couple of days your brain turns to bean dip and everything weighs three times more than it did before. When we cross – load the bits of gear that Arthur used on the Yamaha drum shows on Monday and Tuesday, we totter from truck to truck as though we were humping concrete blocks rather than the speakers that we’ve been tossing around easily for the past five weeks or so. It’s as though our bodies have just decided that they’ve had enough and are trying to tell us that an alternative career in librarianship or something equally sedentary would be more our forte. Pug in particular is very tired and quiet. This may well be something to do with the lovely Daniella , though he maintains it’s because he was, ahem, “ rehearsing” until late last night. Personally I’m more inclined to think it’s because he’s been ingesting industrial quantities of beer and pharmaceuticals, but that’s just me being a cynical old Hector and envious of young people. Thank Tigger that we’re doing a “proper” theatre today, which will make things a bit easier. I know it’s a bit early for Easter but there’s a definite resurrection theme going on…..not only has Arthur’s blue van rallied enough to make one last great troll round the M25, but Doris the satnav switched on this morning and started lecturing us just as we were about to peg her out the window, welcome events both. Must be our positive energy (man). We’ve done the Towngate before, something like a year ago, to about 150 appreciative souls, but we’ve doubled that figure this time, so we could be in for a good night. The band all look refreshed when they arrive, Steve especially dapper with a new buzz-cut, and we get a bit of an unusual soundcheck routine today; the band are doing a big TV show in Germany just after the tour finishes and they are backing Chubby Chekker ( still alive,
apparently ) as well as playing the Bee Gee’s Robin Gibb onstage, so we get chunks of “ Do The Twist “ and “ Got To Get A Message To You “ as well as the normal fare, and it sounds bloody good. We have a panicky ten minutes of grief with the PA system about halfway through soundcheck but Arthur and Pug get it sorted, and we’re back up and running. Once again I’m virtually hidden behind a curtain so I can’t see the crowd and it mutes the audience’s applause, making things a bit weird as you don’t know how well the band are going down. I can just about see Steve and he’s bouncing around and smiling, though, so he must be getting something good back from the auditorium. Some nights Missile Command is almost on the stage and you’ve got all the sights, sounds and smells of the show right up close and personal, and on others we’re so far back in the wings and behind drapes or whatever that it detaches you from what’s happening, but this isn’t as bad as some….at least I can see one of the screens so I know that the buttons I’m pressing are actually doing something. I can’t see the Black Box Of Bafflement at all though, so it’s a leap of faith when I fire in the light and smoke. The first half seems to fly by tonight and I’m not sure if it’s a case of just being over-familiar with the set or if the tiredness is still hanging around, but once again no-one strays too far from their positions at the interval so perhaps we ARE all a bit jaded still. Everyone says the show’s going down really well, though, and the new graphics Tomps has added to some of the inserts look fantastic, so we know we’re going to leave here tonight with another away win. I manage to burrow out of my House Of Black Curtains towards the end of the second half and get a good look at the audience who are, as I believe the common parlance has it, giving it large. Cue standing ovation and sustained applause. One – nil to us….GET in there ! As the crowd file out we can hear the house staff telling them “ tell all your friends and don’t forget to come back and see the show next year ! “ Suppose we’d better talk to them about a re-booking, then…..We’re out in just over an hour and head back to Bedford, but it would appear that there’s some kind of Roadworks Jubilee going on….I can say with hand on heart that I’ve never seen so many cones, flashing orange lights, blokes in hi – vis clothes and “ Lane Closed “ signs in my entire puff; it’s like discovering that there’s a whole new civilisation that only comes out at night and burrows into the country’s motorway network. This vileness starts on the A127 just after we come out of Basildon and dogs us right round the M25 and up the A1. We don’t seem to be clear until we’re almost back to Bedford, and as a result we get back late, shagged out and irritable. No change there, then……..

Wimborne Tivoli Sat March 13th

The morning starts well; the alarm on Arthur’s mobile goes off once but doesn’t go into “ repeat “ mode, and it’s not enough to rouse two exhausted fifty – somethings. As such we’re half an hour late getting out of the hotel, and that means no time for breakfast, so we’re going to have to grab something on the hoof. Arthur’s opted for what at first seemed to be an odd route, heading south – west towards Bristol and the M4 before turning back south – east to Wimborne, but it proves a good choice as it’s virtually roadworks – free and we maintain a steady speed. Things get a bit more gnarly when we find that the journey takes us right though the centre of Saturday – morning Bath and it’s attendant traffic jams before meandering through some beautiful countryside towards Blandford Forum. Due to the usual crop of weekend drivers, farm vehicles and caravans we’re held up again, and don’t get to the venue until 2.30pm, but find that Rodders, Tomps ( who drove down here straight from home ) and the house crew have already unloaded the truck. I’d like to state for the record here and now that the person who said he saw us crouching in the bushes and watching until they had finished is a liar, a cad and a bounder. All joking aside, we ARE knackered, though…..a bunch of us have been on the road already for over four hours today and are sluggish and slow with the build. We know it’ll get done it time….it ALWAYS gets done in time…..but everything seems like a real effort and all the equipment seems to have put on weight overnight. At least the venue is a good size so we’re not scrapping for space to put things, and the crew are very helpful, even Tom, the bright –eyed, bushy – tailed trainee who is fascinated by our Tales Of Tours Gone By. It’s an odd building, actually….it’s got a sort of oversized Nissen hut shape about it and a slightly crazed colour scheme....from the stage the seats look camouflaged...and it’s almost impossible to guess it’s age, but the stage is much bigger than Pocklington ( mind you, so are my boxer shorts ) so we can get the whole production in without any worries. As we start to get over our car – lag and our cramped and aching muscles begin to ease we gradually speed up, and rugger bugger Tomps even has time to somehow get my laptop screening the England v Scotland match, sneaking quick peeks each time he passes. It’s this very same match that gives me the clearest indication yet of how tired I am, though….I was setting up my pyrotechnic firing unit and Scotland had been awarded a penalty. The kicker was down on his haunches, carefully placing the ball. He seemed to be taking a long time about it, but there was no outcry from the crowd. I wired in a connection and glanced up. Still placing the ball. Another connection, another glance….he’s still down there. I went and ran out another cable, then came back to wire it in a few minutes later. On the screen the Caledonian warrior was in his original pose. Not being a rugby man, I scoffed at this tardiness. “ Yeah, like a footie ref would ever let someone take THAT long over a penalty or a free kick….stupid game ! “. One more cable – run later, I sat back down, looked up, saw the squatting Scot…..and realised the screen had been frozen for about five minutes and I’d been watching the same scene thinking it was live action. As Homer Simpson would have it, D’oh ! I’m also a bit alarmed when the band arrive at about five o’clock. For reasons I can’t remember now they’d driven home after Pocklington rather than stay out, and then got down here a bit later for soundcheck than normal. This would have involved an early – hours arrival back at base, followed by a three or four hour slog down here; they look tired as soon as they walk in, and we haven’t even started yet ! There’s the usual chat and banter but it’s definitely a bit subdued, and the band seem keen to go off to their dressing rooms as soon as the soundcheck duties are dispensed with. There’s an inspired moment when it’s decided to get a Chinese takeaway for everyone rather than us all head off to do our own culinary thing, and apart from some slight confusion over what was duck and what was some other, unidentifiable meat, we trough down with gusto. Speaking for myself, it’s the finest food I’ve ever tasted, but apparently I say that after every meal. Although we got here late today, we’ve done everything we need to do within a couple of hours, and time seems to drag with leaden boots towards showtime. Suffused with the glow of post – prandial wellbeing that a humungous bowl of house special fried rice and curry sauce brings, I can feel the fatigue kicking back in and my eyes are heavy and gritty. When the curtain goes up, not for the first time on the tour I find myself in a kind of daze watching the band play, and I suddenly realise I’ve missed some slide cues and hurriedly slot them in. Steve seems to be struggling tonight, too….he was very quiet when he got here, and he’s puffing and blowing a bit, especially on his drum solo. The solo itself is fine but it all looks like harder work than normal. I also notice that Jamie’s face is dripping with sweat after just a couple of songs, and that’s not like him either. We’ve got a three - day gap coming up after this show and it looks like we need it. This has been the longest run of shows where we’ve stayed out, and it’s taken it’s toll on everyone. Despite the weariness, though, the band are as bang – on as ever, and by the time he gets onstage Den looks lively and box-fresh. The banter goes down really well and Phil’s “ Hank “ gag gets one of it’s best receptions of the tour. We’ve got a good – sized audience here tonight and despite all the ominous warnings of the house guys that it’d be wall – to – wall Zimmer frames, they seem a fairly animated lot. At the interval I get up and set the pyrotechnics before buying an ice cream from the nice lady selling them at the front of the stage, but then have to sit straight back down at Missile Command. I normally go out for a breath of fresh air at the break but even that’s too much effort tonight. I’m wondering if it’s going to be a “ show of two halves “ for the band, and that this half will see the tiredness affect them, but I needn’t have worried…they storm into the second part of the show and, to the genuine surprise of the house crew, get everyone on their feet for the party numbers. Stage manager Phil raises an eyebrow and remarks he hasn’t seen this kind of reaction for a long time, which is always nice to hear even though we’re getting a bit blasé about it now. Once again we have the house manager asking about our availability for a return booking, and we mean it when we say “ we’ll be in touch “….this is a really cool venue and definitely one we’d like to come back to. The load out is a bit of a weird affair….although it’s a nice, fast, flat push out through the scene dock to the truck, Arthur’s spending two of the upcoming break days doing a drum clinic for Yamaha, so he has to pick the gear he’s going to need and make sure it’s on the back of the truck so it can be cross – loaded into his vehicle on Monday. We have to make sure that flight cases don’t get loaded in until all the relevant equipment is sorted, and we’re a bit worried it’ll drag things out. Luckily it doesn’t cause too many problems, and we’re ready to pull out by 11.30pm, which is pretty good under the circs. Arthur’s taking the truck home with him tonight so he and Rodders rendezvous with Pug and I in the car at Winchester services on the M3. We swap drivers, buy the requisite crap like crisps, pies and chocolate, then head off. Rodders falls asleep almost immediately in the back and I only make it as far as the M1 before having to hand the keys to Pug. The next thing I know we’re pulling up outside my house at twenty past three in the morning. Pug climbs wearily into his own car which has been parked on the vertiginous slope of my driveway for sixteen days, and with a loud, parting crack of unsticking handbrake, beetles home to Northampton. I make it into the house and briefly toy with the idea of a snack before making do with a wash and a clean of my Hampsteads. There’s a voice whispering in my ear, and it’s saying “ Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…….” I realise that this in, in fact, extremely good advice, and so I shrug on my Winnie the Pooh jim-jams and slip off into the Land of Nod. See you in Basildon……

Pocklington Arts Centre Fri March 12th

A little snapshot for you of some of the poo that goes on behind the scenes which is neither seen or appreciated...on the drive to Pocklington this morning I ride in the truck with Arthur so I can do some work. The main object of today’s exercise is to chase up the many venues, councils, trusts, cartels and quangos who still haven’t paid us for the shows we’ve done for them. We’re in the truck for around two and a half hours, yet I only manage to physically speak to TWO people; the rest is frustrating round of voicemail, “ he’ll call you back “, she’s in a meeting or “ I’m sorry, he’s having a head transplant…he’ll be back on Monday” I’ve now wasted two hours of my life, run up a chunky mobile phone bill, and have got precisely nobloodywhere. We’re rapidly running out of money because we depend on these people paying us promptly, and while they fart around with their purchase orders, bought ledgers and procurement departments, Arthur and I have got musicians and crew asking daily when they’ll be getting their wages. Can I just state here for the record that I don’t care what venue you’re from, there’s absolutely no reason or excuse why figures can’t be calculated within 48 hours of a show taking place and the artiste told how much they have to invoice the venue for. There’s ALSO no excuse for us then having to wait thirty, sixty and in some case up to ninety days for payment. It’s not YOUR money, you know, and we’re not buying the Town Hall off you or driving a new motorway past the town, for crying out loud….we’re talking small, manageable sums of cash here. And as for all these delaying tactics like cobblers about problems with “ the cheque – writing software “….I’ll come round with my OWN cheque writing software in that case…it’s called a 50p BIC biro, and guess what…it always works. Right. Spleen vented…..time to move on. So Pocklington, then. This is a really pretty little town just east of York, though until this tour I don’t think any of us even knew of it’s existence. One thing we DO know is that the contrast between last night’s venue and the Arts Centre here couldn’t be greater. Whereas the Plaza was all wide open spaces, the Arts Centre is the very essence of compact and bijou. There’s not even a stage….the band are playing on a flat platform at the base of the tiered seating., but it’s a really nice venue…..apart from the fact that a) you have to unload your truck in someone’s garden then remove it to the next county b) we’re back in the Alps again with fifteen steep stairs to the stage c) there’s nowhere to store cases except for the art gallery, which is great…except that you have to cart the cases down about three feet to the lower level, d) there are no moving bars, just like Market Drayton, so it’s a case of humping MACs and projectors up wobbly ladders, and e) the absolute piece de resistance, you can’t load back out the way you came in, because the person whose garden it is has some kind of bizarre objection to a load of uncouth road crew crashing about among the gladioli in the early hours of the morning. I mean, where’s their sense of humour, dammit ? As a result you have to either lump everything up to the top of the tiers in the theatre then put it in the disabled lift and bring it back down, then wheel it right through the theatre and out of the front door. Alternatively you can take it from the art gallery…… and THEN wheel it right through the theatre and out of the front door. Unsure what to do when faced with such a cornucopia of attractive choices we opt for tossing a coin. We lose. There are many good things about the venue, though...the folks here, all volunteers, are extremely friendly and helpful, and the whole place has great atmosphere. There’s also a belting fish & chip shop just down the road and some wicked pubs and bars, plus we’ve been told we’ve virtually sold out, so there plenty of reasons to be cheerful( part three ). There does remain one small stone in the sock – heel of our lives, however…..after tonight’s show we have got the near three – hundred mile, six-and-a-bit- hour haul down to Wimborne in Dorset. What we NEED is a nice, comfortable, flat load out with plenty of helpers. What we’ve GOT is a slow, awkward obstacle course with two keen but inexperienced guys, AND a late –finishing show to boot. But that’s for later…first we have to do the show…and what a show it turns out to be ! The audience are so close and at the same level as the band that they can’t help but connect, and they’re a noisy, enthusiastic lot to start with. It’s a hot, tight, intimate gig, and the lads really get stuck into it. Everything gets a fabulous reaction….the crowd even cheer the slides of the local footage !….and not a single person stays in their seats. The band look like they’re loving this, and everyone else here CERTAINLY is. The place is so small that the roars and cheers at the end are magnified, and just like South Shields, when we play the “ outro “ video insert at the very end of the show they’re extremely vocal in their disappointment. Not for the first time we hear things like “ best band I’ve seen in years “ and “ best show we’ve ever had in here “, and I have to say the show WAS great, but the crew are starting to flag now, and there’s still the prospect of the drive from hell in front of us. The load – out is as slow and gruelling as we’d feared, and it’s a good hour later than our normal finish time that the truck door is finally closed. Rodders and Clive are driving the truck to Wimborne overnight, partly to avoid the road works on the M1, M25, M3, M27 and every other M we go anywhere near, and partly to drop Clive off near Bedford as he’s working with another act tomorrow. They’re brave men, and I salute you, Brothers In Rock ! Arthur, Pug, Lids and me aren’t being QUITE so suicidal; we’re only going as far as Leicester Forest East services and the delights of Day’s Inn. It’s still getting on for three am when we pull up there, though, so we stagger in and crash out almost immediately. We’ve got to be back on the road by ten for another four – hour minimum run. Tomorrow’s going to be SO much fun……

Stockport Plaza Thurs March 11th

Only one unsavoury incident arose from the room – tripling last night. Allegedly Pug leapt out of bed in the early hours, grabbed his duvet and held it in outstretched arms before shouting “ F**k a duck ! “, and climbing back into bed. He has no recollection of this, of course, but “Lids” and Clive were both awake and can confirm that no sexual congress with aquatic birds took place, so the point of the whole somnambulistic business will remain forever a mystery. It DOES make you wonder what they all get up to in their own homes, though…..We leave the North East behind with mixed feelings this morning, and set off across the Pennines for Stockport, gateway to……another part of Stockport, presumably. We’ve had two bereavements in the camp in the last couple of days, sadly….firstly, we heard that Arthur’s infamous blue van has finally passed on, and secondly, my satnav Doris has expired without warning. The death of Doris is the more immediately problematic, as we haven’t a scooby – doo where we’re going. It’s a sad state of affairs that not SO very long ago you’d set out on tour with a notebook, a calculator, a map and a pocketful of change for the callbox. These days you’re considered to be lagging behind if you don’t carry enough technology to get you to the Moon and back, and even bog-standard mobile phones have on – board GPS and sat nav systems that could direct you out of the middle of the Amazon via the A13 if you wanted. Except mine, that is. I DO have a programme called Co-Pilot which works on the same premise but it uses so much processing power that the battery is sucked dry before you even enter the address you want. Looks like we’ll have to rely on old – fashioned methods of navigation, so we dig out the sextant and telescope. Luckily Clive’s poncy phone has Tom Tom on it, and despite it displaying a marked reluctance to let us enter anything useful like the street name or postcode we’re looking for, we somehow manage to find the venue. I realise immediately that the place I THOUGHT we were coming to isn’t this one….I’ve been telling everyone for the past week about the Plaza being this nice old cinema – cum – theatre that I did a show with Country & Western “ hat act “ Don Williams in some years ago. Well, one look at the outside of the building and I twig that I’ve got my Plazas in a twist. This place is MAHOOSIVE, and is full of beautiful, art – deco features. It’s what was once known as a “ picture palace “ and still has the old Wurlitzer – styled organ that came up through the floor and was used to accompany the films. It’s like a slightly smaller Hammersmith Odeon
( cobblers to all this Labatts / O2 / Live Nation Hammersmith Apollo corporate sponsorship nonsense, by the way….it’s the Hammy O and always will be ). It’s still big though, PROPER big, and a small crowd in here are going to be dotted around like pimples on an elephant’s backside. Let’s hope they’ve sold a few tickets...It’s also a mark of what we’ve gone through on the tour that when we’re told we have to load in the through the front door, roll all the kit the length of the building and then hoik it up onto a 5’ stage we just shrug and get on with it. At the minute we feel like we could probably span Niagara Falls with some gaffa tape and a couple of flight cases if we had to, so this is no big deal. It slows things down but it’s not the buttock - clenchingly stressful process of the early days. We’re getting good at this ! As it turns out there’s quite a decent crowd, although from the stage they seems miles away because of the orchestra pit, and their applause gets a bit lost in the cavernous room. The band are getting good at this, too, though; there’s all the verve and effort of a sold – out show, and Den brings the audience even more onside by talking enthusiastically about the fantastic venue. The band seem so far away because of the stage width that when I take the stool on for the acoustic set I virtually have to have a breather halfway across, but they generate such a good ( and how I hate this word ) vibe that the vast stage and cavernous room don’t seem to matter. Everyone sings along and guess what….at the end of the show we get a standing ovation and the manager asks us back. Now where have we seen THAT before…… ?!

Consett Empire Thurs March 10th

We’re still in the North East today but moving south west, to Consett. I had some great times around this area back in my college days ( yes, I CAN remember that far back, thankyou ) with a fantastic bunch of lads from the little towns and villages like Rowlands Gill, Whickham and Burnopfield. I’m still in touch with a couple of them ( Hi Chalkie and Simmy ) but as so often happens I haven’t seen the others in absolutely years. I’ve got family living not too far away as well, but it always feels odd coming back here now….so much has happened since those days and I can’t really recognise the young man I was back then. Returning now gives me mixed feelings; this area is where I’m from and it’s in my blood but everything reminds me of an unrecoverable past. It’s also sad to see how the place has changed; I remember when the steelworks here finally closed down and the town virtually died. A lot of new business eventually came in and a kind of recovery took place but the streets are still full of places like Aldi, Lidl, and Booze Buster. It’s got the drab, somehow hopeless air of a lot of towns and cities that have lost their industrial heart. Corby, close to where I live, is exactly the same, another community decimated by steelworks closures and massive job losses. In the full, unforgiving light of adulthood I can see the dirt and desperation that youth once hid from me, and it’s profoundly depressing, like seeing a favourite relative becoming alcoholic or drug – dependent. To my surprise ( and sadness ) I find that I can’t wait to get out of here. There is, however, the small matter of a show to do first, so let’s kick the maudlin reflections and social commentary into touch. We’re playing the Empire today, a quaint little theatre on the main drag, and it’s sold reasonably well. The band were really taken with the South Shields crowd last night and they’re hoping for more of the same….after all, we’re only twenty miles or so south west, but Consett’s a very different place and I’m not so sure. At least there’s a good atmosphere about the theatre and the two local crew, Ash and Dean, are funny, helpful blokes, but it seems like it’s not just me struggling today. Lids is feeling out of sorts and can’t really put his finger on why, and the rest of us are tired and sluggish, so everything happens sloooooooooowly. What we need is an infusion of lard, so off goes Nick to the local chippie and he brings back enough cholesterol to kill an elephant. It’s absolutely gorgeous. However, trouble looms. Clive has munched his way through the largest kebab this side of Istanbul, and is starting to do “ that
walk “ which presages all things intestinal. I suddenly remember his Incredible Exploding Arse, and realise I have to sit next to this bubbling cauldron of noxious gasses for the next two hours. For those of you with more tender sensibilities I shall draw something of a veil over what happened next; suffice to say it started with a toilet cubicle right next to our side of the stage and ended with a resuscitation team being called out and large fans being needed to dispel a cloud of poisonous fumes. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to do a show with an oxygen mask on, but it’s all part of life’s rich pageant, I suppose. The boy DOES need medical assistance, and soon…. As I mentioned earlier I was a bit unsure about tonight, and it turns out to be one of the oddest shows on the tour. It’s a decent – sized crowd but the raucous abandon of the South Shields mob is conspicuous by it’s absence here. Everything is applauded but in a polite, almost reserved way. The jokes get chuckles but not belly – laughs and the best – received numbers are the ballads and acoustic tunes. It’s hard work, to be honest, but the band learned their lesson on the South Coast and there’s no chance of their “ doing a Weymouth “ again. Every show they play is full tilt now, and they don’t let a subdued reaction get to them. The singalong to I’m A Believer is a bit half - hearted, truth be told, and it’s just quiet enough to let us hear one lone voice somewhere near the back, bellowing atonally at the absolute top of his lungs to a melody that only he hears in his head. Priceless. The second half seems to liven the audience up a bit, though, and while we don’t get the whole house standing for Mony Mony there’s till a good number of folks bopping away. However, when the band take their bow at the end of the set you’d have though The Beatles had just played, so sustained was the cheering, and when we run our end of set audio insert you can actually hear the audience groaning in disappointment ! It’s funny old game sometimes, this…..Back at the hotel we discover that due to two of the rooms being flooded the crew have to actually triple up. Fortunately we’ve seen each other hungover, tired, pissed, throwing up and throwing strops too many times to be fazed by the sight of one of us lurching out of the shower with undercarriage lowered, so no-one minds too much. It’s all a bit uncivilized but that’s the nature of the beast sometimes. As Rodders says, and as has become the tour motto, “ It is what it is “. Deep, huh ? Oh yes, it’s all here in the tour blog…comedy, pathos and philosophy, all in bite – sized chunks !

South Shields Customs House Tues March 9th

We’re back in my native North East today, although I must admit that when I lived in Newcastle South Shields was pretty much Indian country. Cheryl Cole and Joe McElderry may have put it back on the map recently, but it’s certainly not the most lively place; when we arrived last night the town was all but deserted, although we’re reliably informed at the hotel that the place is jumping at the weekends. On a Monday night in March, though, the streets are empty and almost everything’s shut. It’s depressing, to be honest, and the opulent surroundings of the Travelodge don’t exactly do much to lift the spirits. We spent our “ day off “ yesterday, including the drivetime up here, chasing payment, advancing shows and just doing general housekeeping, so you don’t actually get much of a rest, and before we know it, showday’s here again. At least we’re close by the gig, and so we can have a late start and catch up on some much – needed sleep, plus there’s the exotic promise of an Olympic Breakfast at the Little Chef just next door. Are you green with envy, Faithful Blogreader ? South Shields ? Travelodges ? The Little Chef ? What wouldn’t you give to swap places with us and live this wild, exotic rock ‘n’ roll life ? Form an orderly queue, now…..Cut to the Customs House, tonight’s venue, a theatre that used to be….errr….a customs house ( see what they did there ? ) It’s another perfect venue for us and, most importantly, it gives me the chance to talk about Newcastle United with the local crew guys. Apart from Arthur and Steve “ Lids” Liddard, Spurs and Arsenal supporters respectively, this isn’t really a footie – loving crew, so my almost pathological need to discuss whether or not Mike Williamson was a good buy for the club or if Andy Carroll really is the next Alan Shearer meets with a mixture of bemused looks and yawns. Philistines. The band are doing the long haul up from Hoddesdon today, but it seems that after our previous request for something different at soundcheck they’ve put the travelling time to good use and treat us to a blast of Status Quo’s Down Down. We decide we’re going to get them to rehearse ALL our favourite 70’s rock classics while they’re travelling from now on; it’ll help the motorway miles fly by and give us a little lift every day into the bargain. Sweet deal ! soundcheck over, I’m standing outside the gig about ten minutes before the doors are due to open there’s literally no-one to be seen. The venue’s on a little stretch of quay by itself, so there’s no passing traffic or pedestrians, and, not being aware of advance ticket sales, I start to get a tad nervous. One couple turn up, then another, but it’s not looking promising, but then suddenly cars, taxis and even minibuses start arriving as if they were in convoy and in no time at all the place is heaving. Weird. They’re a boisterous lot too….they even sing along to the Ready Steady Go theme on the intro video, and they’re making noise WAY out of proportion to how many of them there are. There’s a big old St James’ Park – style cheer when the band hit the stage and one or two folks are dancing in their seats within a couple of numbers. There’s also one guy in the front row who, if he wasn’t so follically challenged, would be doing what can only be described as headbanging….to The Beatles, mind you….and when Jamie announces four songs in to the set that they’re going to slow the tempo down, the audience actually moan in protest ! This mob are here to par-TAY, but even so the quieter numbers like Sound Of Silence are still rapturously received. They’re laughing at all the jokes and even joining in with the banter, and the first half seems to fly by in about twenty minutes. That’s about as good as it gets for me, though; after the break I do something wrong with the computer and start to have problems with the slides. I also forgot to do a couple of things at the interval, and this takes the edge off the enjoyment of the show for me. I really hate it when everything’s not just right, and I ESPECIALLY hate it if I think I’ve been sloppy. I know it may seem churlish to just focus on my own issues when it’s been a great night but if you’re professional and have certain standards then I believe you SHOULD be bothered if you fall below them. I also know that in the grand scheme of things the visuals aren’t the most important part of the show, but they’re the part I’m most involved with and so I’m not happy. There’s a bit of dissatisfaction elsewhere in the ranks, too, as it turns out. Rodders has had something of a ‘mare with the house lighting today and ended up having to use two lighting desks
( fine for an octopus, not so easy for just two hands ) so he was frustrated that he couldn’t do his normal show, and Steve felt his playing just didn’t click tonight. It sounded fine as ever, but at the end of his solo on Pretty Woman he turned to my side of the stage and mouthed “ Rubbish !” at me. It wasn’t, of course…. he’s too good a player for that….but I know how he feels. All in all, though, tonight’s been a success, and the band decide to have a celebratory pint, so they head over the road to a pub called The Steamboat or The Waterfront or The Skipper’s Nostrils or something. It had an aquatic flavour to it anyway, but what I DO know is that it was advertising eight guest real ales and forty malt whiskies. We won’t be seeing the chaps for a while, then….After a speedy load – out the crew decide to have our own celebration at the Golden Arches ( oh, the, glitz, the glamour, the glory…..) but there’s the obligatory sting in the tail for us. Despite a sign proclaiming the drive – through to be open twenty - four hours and all the lights inside blazing like Blackpool illuminations, it’s totally, thoroughly and resolutely shut. We’re resigned to the prospect of a warmed-through Ginster’s pasty at the garage by the hotel, but even there we’re denied. It’s night service only and the dead – eyed drone inside blatantly lies to us that the microwave’s out of order just so he doesn’t have to shift his fat arse off his seat and shuffle the few feet over to it and do the backbreaking task of putting in a pie and pressing a button. OK, so he’s got a shitty job and I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than have to do it, but I still hate him and wish the fleas of a thousand camels to infest his armpits. We make do with a bag of crisps and some chocolate from the vending machine in the hotel. Still jealous ?! For some reason I go to the wrong room and try to open the door with my key. Realising my mistake Arthur and I hurry away down the corridor to the right room. Behind us, the door I’d tried to unlock opens, and Clive pops his head out. “Ah, are you the two Vietnamese strippers I ordered ? You’re a little heavier than I expected….”

Loughborough Town Hall Sun March 7th

Another shortish hop today; just a couple of hours down the motorway to Loughborough, and we’re a bit early, which is a good opportunity to grab some nosebag before we start the load – in. Some of us have been here before with Peter Green Splinter Group, and, like Scunthorpe and Wakefield it’s the perfect venue for us. The house tech guys, Kevin and Andy, are well on the case, and it’s another one of those days where the build happens really quickly, giving us yet more time to have one of Doctor Tony’s DIY Surgeries. Today the patient is an elderly bass drum case who has lost a wheel and is finding it hard to get about, so the recommended treatment is a total wheel replacement operation. The procedure was a complete success and the case was moving freely by the end of the day. The next scheduled patient is the laptop I’m doing all this on, which badly needs a crapectomy. The wear and tear of going in an out of my tour bag every day plus the unfortunate spilling of half a bag of Sherbet Dip-Dab onto the keyboard has created a great deal of gunky residue, and the patient has been intermittently absent from work over the past week. We’ll probably carry out the operation at the South Shields surgery in a day or two. Soundcheck is quite interesting today; Phil often warms up with snippets of classic rock riffs, and today’s guest tune is Status Quo’s Roll Over Lay Down, which the rest of the lads join in on. We’re happily nodding along when suddenly we see Arthur and Rodders at the front of house positions doing the “ Ace “, that wonderfully pointless 70’s rock “ dance “ that involved you hooking your thumbs in your belt and dipping first one shoulder down and then the other. Seeing these two going for it effectively ends the song as everyone cracks up, but we decide that to make soundchecks more interesting from now on we’re going to insist that the band play a 70’s rock classic every day ! The advance sales for tonight’s show hadn’t been all that clever a while a back, but they must have had a surge lately as the foyer’s heaving when I pop out to check on the guest list. To our delight we discover there’s a minibus full of people who saw us in Derby and enjoyed it so much they decided to come again ..THIS is what we want !!! The place is filling up rapidly and they’re obviously here for a good time as they’re even cheering the curtains. When the band finally come onstage we realise we’ve got probably the most noisy audience of the tour so far, and the atmosphere’s great. All the banter is well received whilst up at the back a whole gaggle of women, some of them a little over – refreshed, it must be said, are leaping around the sound and lighting desks with wild abandon. They’re bloody loud, too…..when Den gets everyone to sing the chorus of Daydream Believer we can hear one of them above everyone else, her stentorian tones sacrificing any pretence at melody on the altar of sheer volume. They sound more like a rock crowd, and it’s wonderful. This is what it’s all about, what all the graft and expense is for. We have a great show here; we know it and it seems that the audiences know it too. On nights like this you feel unstoppable ( are you watching, Rock Gods ?! ) and you just don’t want it to end, but as ever, it does, and the band scoot off for a swift drink after the show while we start another speedy load out. We’re losing Tomps tonight as he’s heading back home with the band to go on another job, but he’ll be back after the Great Trek ( Pocklington to Wimborne ). I’ll miss his calm presence and understated humour next to me at Missile Command, but on tonight’s evidence I WON’T miss his Subway – fuelled flatulence, which created a stench so vile it singed the hairs on my nostrils and melted my smoke machine controller. Bad boy. Another fun hotel tonight, which is ALSO having a refurbishment….we think
“ refurbishment “ is actually a hotel trade euphemism for “ nothing actually works and we don’t give a stuff because you’re leaving in the morning and I’ll have a new boss soon
anyway “. The problem with this one is that the shower ( and I use the term loosely ) doesn’t seem to be connected to the tap properly….in fact, at all. As such when Arthur switches it on and turns his back for a minute to have a shave in the washbasin, he’s soon aware that he’s paddling ankle deep in the water that’s flowing freely from everywhere except the shower head. Add to this the fact that there’s no service at all for T Mobile anywhere inside or even near the hotel, and you may get an inkling that we weren’t best pleased at checkout today, especially when the receptionist told Arthur he should have phoned for maintenance and they’d have come “ immediately “ to fix the shower, and that they were “ unaware “ of any problem with the shower. Judging by the pattern of water stains around the bath it’s been that way for about eighteen years, so call us cynical if you must, but such a speedy act of resolution by a spanner – wielding workman sounds about as likely as me replacing David Beckham as the new lunchbox of Armani undercrackers. Apparently they were also “ unaware “ of any issues with T Mobile. I asked if they seriously expected me to believe that any travelling businessman or woman on T Mobile who had to make that vital call or send that deal – clinching e-mail and found themselves standing on wardrobes and leaning out of windows to try and get even one bar would just shrug and say “ Oh well, never mind….I’ll do it tomorrow “ . Our friendly receptionist said that she thought that was TOTALLY likely, and that was why she’d never had anyone mention it to her before. I actually think the reason that no-one had mentioned anything to her was more due to the fact that she had a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle and was genuinely scary, but perhaps that’s just me being a little uncharitable……

Bridlington Spa Hall Sat March 6th

Yet another out – of – season coastal town today, this one with added road closures and biting winds which blast straight from the Siberian steppes and whistle round your gusset. If it’s Saturday it must be Bridlington, and I must admit that even on this bitingly cold March day the wide strand of golden beach looks beautiful under a clear azure sky. Even the gently breaking waves of the North Sea look inviting, the sun sparkling off them as they ripple across the sand, and for about a nanosecond a primal, instinctive return to childhood and the urge to paddle in the shallows almost galvanizes my legs into action. Fortunately my adult brain kicks in and so I narrowly avoid losing my feet to the freezing ocean. The Spa Hall has had a major spruce – up since the last time I was here way back in the early 80’s, and it’s looking VERY posh these days. Tonight’s show is going to be a bit of a weird one; the main hall actually seats about 1,800 to 2,000 people in it’s normal theatre configuration, and that’s WAY too big for us, but what they do to make the place more intimate is set it out in what’s known as cabaret style, with loads of tables for six ranged around a dancefloor in front of the stage. It looks like an odd cross between the theatre shows we’ve been doing, a regular Overtures “ party “ gig and a bingo night, but the pre-sales figures are quite impressive and thus validate the whole exercise. We don’t really know what to expect, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing….sometimes a little unpredictability can be quite exciting. What is DEFINITELY exciting is the prospect of freshly – cooked fish and chips ( always a bonus at a seaside gig ), and I have to say it doesn’t disappoint…they fry it differently up here, in things like beef dripping, and although it’s not exactly Tesco’s “ Healthy Options “ range it tastes absolutely fantastic, giving you that lovely thick coating of lard on the roof of your mouth….unbeatable ! We draw the line at sticks of rock, though….got to make SOME kind of concession to dietary restraint. For all that the venue is a big old gaff, the stage is actually quite small, and the wing space is almost non-existent, so Tomps and I end up rammed against the wall and sitting on a trapdoor cover. As neither of us are exactly lightweights, there’s a certain degree of trepidation as we lower ourselves into position; there’s a six – foot drop right under us and we can actually feel the boards bending. Tomps is also completely cut off from the stage AGAIN by side drapes, and all I can see is a small triangle of Steve’s drumkit and a tiny bit of one screen. Not really what you need when you’re supposed to be doing all the projection stuff and firing the pyrotechnics….we’re going to have to rely totally on the lads at front of house telling us if it’s safe or not. Ah well, adopt, adapt and improve……As the crowd start come in it’s clear that this is going to be VERY different to anything else we’ve come across on the tour yet…..as far as these folks are concerned they’re just out for a Saturday night party, and, rather brilliantly, loads of them have come in 60’s kit, but we don’t really think they’re going to be ready for some of the longer bits of dialogue that we’ve been doing on the tour, so it’s decided to keep the set exactly as it is but to bin some of the chat and jokes. There’s a bit of a disagreement within the ranks about this at first, but good sense prevails and the new streamlined version is what we go with. As it happens, it’s a perfect call…..we have people up and dancing almost from the first number, so keeping everything tighter and snappier helps the set move along at a cracking rate. We’re actually surprised how well the slower numbers are received, but as we get towards the end of the set and the “ Power Portion “ songs, the floor’s completely full. Under normal circumstances the band would play on until these folks are just greasy spots on the dancefloor, but we stick to the normal set tonight and leave them after just the encore. It’s been an odd, really good show, with only one potential bowel – loosening moment, when Jamie hadn’t stepped back from the pyro firing pot lying almost at his feet. To have hit the “ fire “ button at that point would have been to deliver a charge of hot sparkly stuff right up his bugle, so I back off, but just at the right moment he skips backwards and I have just enough room to fire. As such he only suffers first degree burns and mild hairloss, which is fair enough, really. We shouldn’t be surprised by now at the alacrity with which venue managers come bounding up to us after a show wanting to re-book, but the chap here is almost hopping from foot to foot in excitement. We sniff haughtily and tell him our people will speak to his people ( it’s not the done thing to appear too keen ! ) before heading off back to our hotel in North Ferriby. I’d be most remiss if I didn’t at least give a mention to this bastion of 70’s tastelessness and inefficiency, by the way. The brown, beige and cream décor, the showers that produce a spray so fine you have to run around the bath to get wet ( and that’s assuming you can get them to go hot in the first place ) and the friendly and helpful staff….all three of them, to cover reception, bar, kitchen and, for all we know, cleaning duties as well….it’s hard to know where to start eulogising. Apparently it’s going under new management tomorrow, but under a bulldozer would probably be more appropriate. When we checked in we were told their “ systems were running slow “ , and they weren’t joking…they were SO glacial in tempo I half – expected to see the receptionist using an abacus and quill pen, but eventually we got our room keys ( hewn from finest flint and daubed with interesting paintings of buffalo and woolly mammoths ). We were told the rooms were a
little “ tired “; well, ours was so knackered it must have just run the London Marathon, but it’s a place to lay a weary head, and that’s all that matters…plus it’s cheap. We wish them good luck with the re-fit and re-brand, though we couldn’t help but think that “ Maison Smeggy “ was an ill-advised choice of new name…..

Scunthorpe Plowright Theatre Fri March 5th

It’s a gratifyingly short run to Sunny Scunny today, so after we’ve had a quick mooch around the sights of the town ( VERY quick, actually ) and a bite to eat we get stuck in to the load – in. The Plowright is a neat, modern theatre with good facilities, and although it’s quite small it has great access and plenty of storage space, not to mention a very capable and helpful crew, so to our surprise and pleasure we’re pretty much set up and ready to soundcheck by 2.30pm, which must be some sort of record. There’s no time for loafing, though, as there’s always something needs a bit of TLC or even impact therapy to get it working again, and this is the perfect time to catch up on this stuff. Arthur and I also have to deal with a thorny logistical issue; it’s become clear that Ol’ Slowcoach, the truck, is going to take about a week to make the near 300 mile trek from Pocklington to Wimborne, and the minibus won’t do much better, so we’re having to look at the possible option of getting the truck and band driven to Dorset overnight. This will involve a tour bus being hired in and a relief driver found for the truck, all of which will cost money…and that’s also assuming we can persuade someone to do it for us, so we get on the phones and start calling in favours. Just to make our day go even smoother we find when the band start soundchecking that three of our PA system “ tweeters “ may have blown, so Pug and Arthur get the screwdrivers out and start disembowelling the speaker cabinets. Luckily it just turns out to be loose capacitors
( whatever THEY may be ) and a swift application of the soldering iron has everything ticking along again. We rarely have the time to even run tests on problems like this so it’s a major relief that it’s something the guys can fix quickly, and not for the first time we appreciate the luck that’s brought us so far with no real major technical issues to speak of. We can’t really carry too many spares on the road so if something went VERY badly wrong we’d find ourselves having to explore other avenues, like theft or prayer. For today at least, though, we’re still in the game. At soundcheck the band decide that they’re going to replace Do You Love Me with On The Beach as the question they’re asked the most by the people they meet after the show is “ Why is there no Cliff in there ? “ It’s a measure of how well we’ve nailed this whole touring lark that this change is met with an accepting nod rather than the abject panic we felt about the changes which were forced on us in the first couple of weeks. I also feel I’ve got my part of the show completely under control now. With the one – off gigs we did in the past there was no continuity and no chance to familiarise yourself with the thing, and as such I had to have the comfort blanket of a set list plus a full numbered index of all the slides and video inserts we were using, and these had to be spread out in order around my control position, properly illuminated and so on. If they were out of my sight even for a second I’d have a total cow, yet here I am running with a hand – written set list complete with doodlings and crossings - out whilst happily moving slides around during the show to give them more impact. It just goes to show what a bit of routine and repetition can do ! The lads have made another small change to tonight’s show, and it’s one Arthur and I have felt has needed making for quite a while. When they do the “ Mods & Rockers “ gag the main build – up is between Den and Steve, but Chris has been delivering the punchline, As he’s standing at the back and to one side the sudden shift in visual and vocal emphasis seems to dissipate it’s effectiveness, and we’ve felt the dialogue should stay completely with Den and Steve. I found out earlier that Chris DIDN’T forget the punchline last night, they’d just been talking about changing it beforehand and there’d been some confusion as to whether it was going to happen that night or not, hence the pregnant pause. There’s no such uncertainty tonight and the whole thing works 100% , getting big laughs from the crowd. I’ve been asked by a couple of my more cynical acquaintances if I don’t think the between – song banter and little comedy moments are just too “ cabaret “, but my answer to them has always been “ Up your nose with a rubber
hose, matey “ followed by a swift crossing – off from my Christmas card list. The answer is no, it’s not cabaret at all…..it MAY be a bit corny here and there but if you look at the bands of the Sixties many of them incorporated some element of comedy into their acts; don’t forget they were still classed as being part of that catch – all category “ light entertainment “ so they were just maintaining the showbiz traditions of the day, and I think that’s where we’re coming from, with the emphasis on the word “ entertainment “. Another issue these nay-sayers raised was the fact that the verbal aspect of the show is quite tightly scripted and pretty much the same each night, and my response to THAT is “ Of course it bloody well is ! We’re doing a two – month tour, for Flipper’s sake, are the band expected to come up with different witty banter and repartee every single
night ?” The Barron Knights have been doing the same set with exactly the same jokes for nigh on fifty years, and even the top comedians like Connolly, Evans and McIntyre work to a script….they don’t make the whole thing up as they’re standing there onstage every time ! They key is to keep it sounding fresh, and the lads are doing absolutely fine with this. It REALLY gets up the back of my goat’s nose when people are negative about something so forehead – slappingly obvious. Anyway, rant over….back to the show, which easily makes it a hat – trick of belters after Coventry and Wakefield. This is a very vocal audience who need no second bidding to sing lustily along at every opportunity, and the inclusion of On The Beach at the end of the second set proves an inspired decision. I’m also really pleased to see our Superfan Marilyn bang in the front bopping around with her chic white and pink tour T – shirt on….the girl’s a trouper, and no mistake ! The only odd thing about the theatre is that the bar is tiny and actually in the auditorium, so the band have to move with the speed of many antelope to get out there after the show before the ushers have cleared the building completely. One chap sidles up to Arthur and tells him that two of the photographs we used in the “ your town in the 1960’s “ section behind Handbags & Gladrags weren’t, in fact, of Scunthorpe. We apologise and tell him that everywhere looked the same back in the Sixties when it was all in black and white. Pedant. Actually ( and I digress unashamedly here ) that reminds me of the time my youngest daughter Sarah, who was about six at the time, was watching an old monochrome programme on TV. It was probably from the Sixties, actually, as it had modern-ish cars and the fashions were way past crinolines and top hats, and she kept looking from me to the screen, the screen to me. Eventually she furrowed her brow and asked “ Daddy, when you were a little boy, were you in colour ? “ Genius ! Back at the Plowright Theatre we’re getting the place cleared in very good time, and set off for the hotel. We’re driving about thirty miles north tonight, to North Ferriby, and we will be staying in this hotel for two nights as it’s well placed for both Scunthorpe and tomorrow’s show in Bridlington, plus it sets us right on the M62 for Sunday’s drive down to Loughborough. We drive over the Humber Bridge for the first time, which is the Largest In Europe With a Bendy Bit at One End or something, trying to keep our eyes on the road and NOT on the terrifying quarter – mile drop to certain, horrible death in the icy waters of the river ( I don’t like big bridges….did you pick up on that anywhere ? ). What IS good is that they only charge the measly ( though somewhat odd ) amount of £ 2.70 to use the bridge. Why, then, do you need a mortgage to cross a similar structure just to get into Wales…and then NOT pay anything to cross back out ? I know I mentioned this before in a previous blog but so far neither the First Minister of Wales nor the head of the Department Of Transport, both of whom tell me they religiously read this, have had the courtesy to reply. Does anyone out there know the answer to this burning, all – consuming question ? Replies on an e-mail please……