Bridlington Spa Theatre Fri March 19th

Luckily, nothing else did go wrong, but because of the delay and the problems with having to fill the Merc’s engine with water every 200 yards or so, it’s gone three am before Nick and I hit Le Craphole Du Jour, also known as the Grantham South Travelodge. The nicotine-grizzled troll on reception seems hell-bent on stopping us getting to our beds, presenting us with a litany of questions, forms and bizarre touch-screen computer malarkey, but we finally manage it and I’m asleep before Nick’s even had a chance to realise it, with the result that he engages in a thirty- minute conversation with me and thinks I’m just being a bit quiet or standoffish. A stentorian snore finally tells him the truth of the matter, and he crashes too. The next morning is fine and bright but WAAAAAY too early as we head out to the two recalcitrant vehicles, and cross our fingers. Nick’s starts right away, and with just a pause to fill the radiator with the contents of a small reservoir, so does mine, and we’re off to the east coast of Yorkshire. The band and the rest of the crew are snugly parked against the venue right on the prom, and it’s such a beautiful day that they are actually woken up by the heat of the morning sun warming the bus. They run onto the sand, gambolling like children, and rush headlong into the sea as it gently breaks upon the golden beach. In the clear azure sky above seagulls wheel and swoop, their distinctive cries echoing across the strand, as below them the tour party splash, dive, and swim in the clear waters.( This, by the way, it’s what’s called poetic license…the reality is that Tomps and Junior thought about having a paddle, realised they’d lose at least one foot to frostbite, and went back to bed.)Funnily enough, when we were here last year it was also a beautiful day, with a similarly murderously cold wind, but if you can get out of the wind it’s actually pretty damn lovely…after the load-in Nick and I realise there’s a kind of sheltered terrace along one side of the hall, and it’s an absolute sun trap. The benches there are all occupied by old folks, their wrinkled faces turned towards the heat like superannuated sunflowers, and we join this strangely peaceful little community for a while, talking in hushed tones as if we were in church, so anxious are we not to disturb the tranquillity of these elderly sun-worshippers. Suddenly one of them farts loudly, and with what sounds horribly like a follow-through, so we scuttle back inside. This being the seaside, there’s only one choice for crew grub…fish and chips, and we know the best plaice in town. Ha ! Plaice ! Fish !! See what I did there ? Oh, never mind…..Busy Bee’s is one of those quintessentially English fish and chip shops that cook all the fish as it’s ordered and you order it by weight. Having seen the size of the portions it would appear the choices were “ Big, Bigger and Moby Dick “ but it’s totally gorgeous, and coupled with a pot of mushy peas and a can of Vimto a chap could easily believe he’d died and gone to heaven here. We invade Den’s dressing room and chow down in a silence broken only by the odd moan of ecstasy. There’s some trepidation about the projectors tonight, but despite the Ribena mark they behave reasonably well….the chaps had a look today and realised the mark is due to a burn, so there’s going to have to be some serious repair work done when the tour’s over, but at least it looks as if we’ll be able to get through the last dates. The flickering’s not so bad tonight, but one light has flickered out altogether….we hear the sad news that The Shadows’ Jet Harris has passed away, and as a mark of respect decide to dispense with the Hank Marvin suit and visual jokes tonight. Tomps finds a really good picture of the man and adds it to the slide show so we can pay proper tribute to him at the end of the Shadows medley. As with Samson’s hair, however, the Hank suit clearly gives Phil his Shadows – playing powers, because tonight, for the first time, and without the suit, he goes wrong, and the band have a mini-flap for a couple of seconds until they pull it round again. Could have been the ghost of ol’ Jet just funning with us, of course….Last time we were here we played in the Great Hall with the seats in a cabaret style, and had a belting night, with loads of people turning up in 60’s clobber. In tonight’s room there is a conventional theatre setting ( and very nice it is too ) but the 60’s kit is still in force, and one particular group of ladies have really gone to town. There’s a lovely, warm feeling to tonight, right up until the point two women at the front get thrown out for being pissed and abusive, but hey, you can’t have everything. After the show we try to track the group of ladies down as they’d wanted a picture with the band and we wanted to put it on the website to encourage more people to do the dressing – up thing, but as is the case with venue stewards everywhere, they hustle everyone out…. one minute you’re in the gig applauding the band, the next you’re standing in a cold street by an exit wondering where your coat is and why your wig’s on back to front. Shame. Tonight it’s Arthur and Rodders doing the van stint, so they’re off to Scotch Corner to stay overnight before pushing on to Dumfries. I’m really tired and get to bed as soon as is socially acceptable ( i.e. after we’ve ripped the piss out of Phil about the Shadows cock-up for about an hour ) but these are not good roads, and it’s like driving over a ploughed field. Luckily Big John must think so too as he eventually pulls in for a few hours to give himself ( and us !) a welcome little break, and I manage to grab a nap. We’ll need our wits about us when we get to the border and the notoriously tough and nasty Scottish Passport Control…