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……