Rotherham Civic Theatre Wednesday April 4th

First night aboard the Flying Bogey, and it’s most splendid . As we only had about thirty – five miles to go to tonight’s show in Rotherham. we decided to stay parked up outside Buxton Opera House. Curtis Stigers is playing there tonight, but he’s got a two o’clock get in and we’ll be well gone by then. It means we can sleep without the bus moving, and we can keep it hooked up to the Opera House’s power so we can keep the systems running overnight. But we know, don’t we, Faithful Blogreader, that hindsight is a wonderful thing ? When we look out the windows this morning the place has turned into a winter wonderland .There’s snow everywhere, and though the roads are reasonable in town, we’re aware that we have to cross the Peaks to get to Rotherham. Suddenly staying here overnight doesn’t look like it was such a good idea…..Arthur, Nick and myself jump into the (very cold ! ) vans, and we set off after the bus. We’ve still got three hours to get there, so no cause for alarm. Until we see John pulling into a lay-by on the A6 just two miles out of town. The first thought is “ he’s broken down “ so we pull in too, but it turns out he’s heard a report on the radio that the A6 is closed….right where we’re going. As there are still cars travelling on both directions we decide to leave the bus where it is for the moment while we push on in the vans to see what the story is. No more than a couple of miles up the road, it becomes obvious that the story is “we’re in trouble”. As we’re climbing up the peak we run into a stationary line of traffic. The snow cover’s heavy but the roads themselves look absolutely fine, so we’re thinking it’s maybe an accident or some kind of incident holding us up. It’s still snowing quite hard, too, but it’s not lying on the road surface, so we’re pretty confident that whatever the problem is, it’ll be cleared soon. After half an hour without moving, however, our confidence is starting to wane a little. There’s an extra problem, too….as we’d been expecting a short journey, Arthur and I had just got into our work clothes, so both of us were wearing shorts. Not a problem in itself…except that the van heater, which hitherto had been stuck on
“ Tropical “ has now switched itself to “ Sub-Zero” and will only blow cold air. To add to our woes, we realise that there’s little or no mobile phone coverage here…nor is there any down where the bus is parked, so we can’t even tell the guys what’s happening. An hour ticks by. Then another. Then another. Two very real possibilities begin to present themselves. The first, and most unpalatable, is that we might not make the show tonight, and we already know it’s sold out. The second is that we could even end up stuck here overnight, and that would be actually dangerous, underdressed as we are. In the van we’ve just got a bottle of water, a bag of crisps and three Haribo sweets….not exactly what you’ll find as staple items in the Bear Grylls Guide To Arctic Survival, but it’s all we have. As time goes on we start to cast sly glances at each other, both of us thinking the same thing…“ I wonder what he tastes like ?” Eventually we start to inch forward, and finally get to a spot where we have mobile service, so we tee Rotherham up on our predicament and let the boys in the bus know what’s going on. We decide that if we’re still here at four o’clock we’ll have to pull the show, and so we call our agent, Alan Field, to put him in the picture and start looking at potential replacement rates. With agonising slowness we crawl up the hill as the hands speed round our watchfaces. There’s another uncomfortable aspect to all of this, which is that freezing cold + bottle of water + ageing bladders = uncontrollable urges to pee. Bearing in mind what we’re wearing and the outside conditions of cold and driving snow, understandably we hang on until the last possible moment, but some things won’t be denied. I gingerly open the door of the van and it’s nearly wrenched out of my hand by the howling gale. Fighting it back, I jump out of the van, landing ankle deep in snow and slush which instantly soaks my shoes and drops my core temperature by a further several vital degrees. Now, in deference to our female readers and those of you of a genteel disposition, I shall dispense with the more graphic details involved in trying to extricate an unwilling todger from the warm safety of his boxer shorts and have him perform the necessary function into the teeth of an Arctic wind. All I will say is that I’ll never look at a mini cocktail sausage in the same light again. Back in the cab of the van it’s still freezing, but at least we’re out of that wind….and miraculously, soon we’re out of the traffic as well. They’ve finally got snowploughs and breakdown trucks to the top of the peak and have managed to open one lane, so we inch over the pass. John had managed to get the bus back into Buxton but was totally gridlocked once there…at least the lads had been able to get into a local pub and use the facilities. Now the road’s open, he can hopefully get turned around and head back out after us, though we know it’ll still take him a while to get out. Frustratingly, within a couple of miles of the peak summit, the snow has given way to driving rain, and everything’s clear….it was just the mile of so across the peak that had caused all the trouble. So now we have a dilemma. We’ve got all the gear, and three of the crew…but no band. Even if we make it, maybe John won’t, and it’ll all have been for nothing. Still, we can only deal with what’s in front of us, so we put the pedal to the metal and tear-arse as fast as we can to Rotherham. The vans pull up just after four – thirty, a miracle in itself, but we’re going to need a little more diving intervention if this is still going to work. Luckily we have two really good local lads, Andy and Damian, who totally appreciate the plight we’re in, and pitch in like troopers. On the way down we’re worked out that we’d just chuck all the gear in, then Arthur would set up the monitors and PA if he could while I did the projectors and Nick started on the backline. Initially there’s a real sense of frantic activity, but we’re experienced enough to know the old adage “ more haste, less speed “ is going to be the watchword here. We still don’t know where the bus is, and to be honest we daren’t ask; it’d just be heartbreaking if they don’t make it after all this. We’ve made huge inroads into the gear when a message comes through from Tomps….they’re in Chesterfield, less than half an hour away. We’ve got a fighting chance now, and when the rest of the lads finally arrive, it’s as if a little army’s walked in the door. Rodders dives straight into the lighting, Pug and Tomps efficiently finish off what we’ve managed to start and the band all help with their own instruments. We’d been told by the management they could afford to hold the showtime back until 8.00pm if necessary, butt after an incredibly short soundcheck, we realise we’ve created a little miracle of our own. Not only will the show go up at the scheduled time, but it’ll be the full thing…we haven’t had to compromise or drop anything out. Frankly, it’s an astonishing feat given where we all were just a couple of hours ago. I’ve been doing this for thirty years or so, and I’ve never seen anything like it. Totally brilliant, and it could only have been achieved by a team like this, where everyone trusts everyone else and there’s such a great espirit de corps. Given everything that’s happened it would almost be understandable if the show itself was a bit of an anticlimax, but it’s not…we’ve got a sell-out crowd and they’re totally up for it. The sheer relief of actually being there seems to make the band relax, too, and it’s one of the best nights of the tour so far. An added bonus at load-out is the appearance of Chris “” Junior “ Stocker, back in the fold for the next ten gigs or so. He’s braved the vagaries of the British rail network to get here, and it’s great to see him and his hairy brown duffel – coat again. Happy days…. It’s been a fantastic achievement all round here….but I REALLY wouldn’t like us to start making a habit of it. I’ve got little enough hair left already………