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….”