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 !!!! “