Christchurch Regent, Thursday Sept 2nd

I'm sure someone has actually been down here and moved Dorset a bit further south since last time, or maybe it was the teeth - grinding monotony of the miles and miles of roadworks on the M1 and M25, but it takes bloody AGES to get to Christchurch today, and the carload of crew types arrive a full thirty minutes after Arthur and Nick have pulled up in the two gear vehicles. It's an absolutely glorious South Coast day, but we've no time to appreciate it as we're straight out of the car and into the load-in. The Regent is one of those curious little theatres that you find tucked away in various provincial towns around the UK, fronting onto the main street but with a modest facade that you almost miss as you drive by. Haverhill Arts Centre and Chatham Central Hall are very similar, but inside the Regent it's a totally different ballgame as the place has this lovely, faded art - deco vibe. It's fun, funky and exactly the kind of place we enjoy playing. The load -in is a BIT of a bugger, as they've got this big, grown - up scene dock at a height of about 4' from the ground, all tricked out and ready for the ramps or tail-lifts of the big trucks that will back up to it. However, it's way too lofty for our two Mercedes Sprinter vans, so we're faced with the option of either humping things in from floor level or rolling it up a mental switchback disabled access ramp that wouldn't look out of place as a ride on a local pleasure beach. The local crew lads are very helpful, though, and in the case of stage manager Sean, a laid - back and luxuriantly - ringletted rocker, they're also expert tea makers. Cold drinks are fine in hot weather, but sometimes a good brew will cool you down just as effectively, and boy do we NEED cooling down.....despite the fact that the scene dock shutter door is kept open until the last minute to allow some breeze across the stage, within minutes of our arrival we're sweating bullets, and Pug in particular looks like someone's just upended a bucket of water over him ( mind you, he breaks into a sweat just lighting a cigarette, so that's not really saying anything.....). The stage is also a bit narrow and cramped but we get sorted with the minimum of cursing and flouncing. The band all arrive without mishap or delay, and the soundcheck is dispatched with such elan that we've got nearly an hour and a half before doors, so I make a play for Damian's Food God title and trot out in search of comestibles, returning successfully with...yep, you guessed it...fish and chips
( actually I almost fell over the bloody place as it was virtually next door to the theatre, so I don't think Damian's got anything to fear from me ). It's such a lovely evening that I suggest we dine al fresco " Nah " replies some wag, I'm going to eat mine outside instead ". Foolish boy. We dutifully troop out and have one of those lovely little tour bonding moments as all eleven of us, plus Den's lad-ling William, sit chatting and eating outside the theatre in the gorgeous Dorset sunshine, seagulls wheeling overhead. Despite the idyllic setting I'm keeping a wary eye on the birds; I've seen these winged muggers on You've Been Framed as they filch grub out the very hands of unsuspecting tourists, and despite the fact that it would take a veritable Schwarzenegger of the avian world to part ME from my food, I'm not going to give them the slightest opportunity. Eventually it's time to head back inside, and as the doors open we realise it's not going to be that large a crowd tonight.In the past this has worked both ways for us; early in the last tour we had a couple of quiet shows and it seemed to hobble the band in some way, so that they played very much within themselves. On other nights it made for a more intimate connection, though, and a couple of the best shows we did were to smaller audiences. Pleasingly, tonight is very much the latter. This is a really enthusiastic crowd, vocally boosted and prompted by our perennial front - row stormtroopers Marilyn and Debs, and it's one of those nights when you just KNOW it's going to be good. When this band is put onto a small stage these days, we don't get hissy fits or diva strops about not having room to express themselves or some such cobblers, what we get instead is a kind of raw, undistilled intensity that really does prove irresistible to audiences. Add Arthur's sonic genius and the lights and projections to the mix and you've suddenly got something that seems way too big a fit for it's surroundings. It's not a case of arrogance; we KNOW this is a great show, and when you squeeze it into somewhere like the Regent it's phenomenal. Tonight is a perfect example of The Bootleg's Effect, and the fulsome praise heaped on us by the house staff coupled with the post-show e-mails from audience members just reinforce our resolve that we're on the right track with this, and that it's just a matter of time before we're stepping up to a different level. Tonight is also a FUN show; Steve's enjoying himself so much he corpses just as he's about to start his vocal for " In My Room " and everyone's relaxed and joking. Things are helped along by the sudden appearance onstage of a bat, clearly shaken from his slumber in the upper reaches of the theatre's roof by the sturm und drang of the band's playing. For a few numbers he zooms around the hall, even swooping down to buzz the band a couple of times. Some of the female audience members seem a little discomfited, but Chris deadpans reassurance, " Don't worry, it's just a special effect " he tells them. I know we sometimes say that our show features special guests, but this really IS a first..... Fortunately our little Pipistrelle friend ( later christened Eric The Bat by Marilyn and Debs for reasons known only to themselves ) soon disappears from sight, and we reason that he's either found a way out or much more likely, the sound from the PA has so seriously shagged his inbuilt radar that he's flown headfirst into a wall somewhere. Whatever the reason, the band are left unencumbered to rampage towards the end of another hugely successful show, marred only by my substituting two of the theatrical flashes ( you know, the ones with the " loud report " ) for two dodgy silver jets, and then forgetting to warn the band. It earns me a Paddington Bear Flat Stare from Den and poor Steve has to change his undercrackers AGAIN, but it's just a blip on another belting night for us all. These are the kind of gigs when you know you're getting it all right, and when the venue, the crowd and the local crew are as good as they are here, it's just so, so satisfying. It even takes the edge off a slow and arduous load-out, and will bolster us for the long drive home. We'll DEFINITELY come back here again. As we pull away I bid farewell to the Regent, and just as we drive past the load door I see a small bat swoop down. I can't be sure from this distance, but it looks like he's wearing a little bandage round his head.....