Worthing Assembly Hall Saturday April 28th

I’ve always found that once I’m awake, I’m awake, and so it is this morning, despite having had virtually no sleep. My mind’s full of heavy-duty things like the logistics of getting all the vans packed properly tonight, the overall financial position of the tour and, of course, whether or not Newcastle can maintain their winning streak against Wigan today. By the time I haul myself out of my bunk, John’s moved the bus and got the powerline in before crashing back out. I also have to move the van, and the moment I step out of the lee of the Assembly Hall and the rain-sodden, icy wind knifes straight up the legs of my shorts and into every orifice, I know I’ll not be going back to bed. The galvanising effect of this wind / rain / ice combo literally brings tears to my eyes. Somewhere down south below the borderline two frozen little testiclettes cry “ Bloody hell, not AGAIN ? What is it with this bloke, shorts and cold weather ? We’ve only just recovered from Buxton…!” I’m not listening to them, though, largely because when you think you can hear your testicles talking to you, you’ve REALLY been on the road too long. I’ve also caught something on the wind, and like a hunter bent to the trail of his prey I flare my nostrils and sniff the chill air. A melange of aromas whirls and dips, teasing and testing my senses, but finally I have it, and lock unerringly onto the scent, drinking in the heady perfume. There’s no mistake. It’s Sausage and Egg McMuffin, possibly with a hash brown, and unless my capacious bugle has failed me, a big-ass cup of tea as well. It’s coming from…that-a-way, so stealthily, silently, like a cat ( albeit a big fat bald one ) I follow the trail. Today, McMuffin, you are MINE…....Some time later, replete, emboldened by my success, and with the paper and cardboard carcass of my hapless victim screwed up on the table in front of me, I decide it’s time to brave the elements and head back to the bus. Pausing only to have my intelligence insulted by the rude, moronic staff at the local branch of our bank, I reach the Bogey, just in time to see Ray from the Assembly Hall open the side gate through which we will load the gear in and out. Let me tell you about Ray for a moment, if I may. He’s been here every time we’ve played the Hall, and he’s something of a National Treasure. Helpful, courteous, funny, sensible and daft by equal measure, it’s almost worth coming down here to play just to have him work on the show. He’s easily one of the best house tech guys on the entire circuit, and just seeing his smiling face as he comes over to shake hands helps brighten up the day….and that’s just as well, because the day NEEDS brightening. The weather’s doing it’s damndest to make sure we don’t have an easy ride of it. It’s teeming down, freezing cold and there’s an icy blast which, we hear, may develop into gales as the day progresses. That’ll be just in time for load-out, then…..The Assembly Hall has a long access alley down the stage right side of the building, smack in the middle of which is a little hump then a dip. We’ve done MUCH worse, but it still slows you down a bit when you’re in a hurry to get the gear in and get yourself out of the rain. It’s absolutely lashing down, and the wind is invading every nook and cranny. Nick pulls up in his van just as we start unloading ours, and we manage to empty them both with some alacrity if not, it must be admitted, a great deal of decorum. Luckily with the help of Ray and Roy the build is fast as well, as we’re all trying to warm up from being hosed by the freezing downpour.This is another big stage, but the Assembly Hall layout is a bit odd. Built to accommodate things like tea dances and Ray McVey and His Band Of The Day, its’ main concession to modern rock’n’roll shows is the presence of two big flown lighting trusses. These are very well equipped and work brilliantly but they’re in fixed positions, and the front one is actually above the audience, meaning that the projectors have to throw the images 18m instead of their normal 6m…and this is through a blaze of concert par can lights. To be honest it’s amazing we can see anything at all, but all three projectors now have new lamps in them, and they cut through just fine. The hall has also got a split-level stage, no wing space at all, and the upper tier of the hall is painted in a very light colour so even when there’s a blackout you can still see quite clearly. It shouldn’t work…but it does. We’ve always had a great night here. Tickets sales are “Steady” as opposed to “Hurrah !” but they’re also not “ Shoot me now, my life is worthless and I want to die” so we think we’re in for a good night. WE’RE certainly going to enjoy ourselves anyway, and in true end-of-tour-japes fashion, Nick hands each of the crew members a mental wig / hairpiece kind of sketch that makes you look like a cross between Predator and Bob Marley on a REALLY bad hair day. It’s got long dreadlock-style tresses, but the clincher is that each of those tresses contains a series of green or red flashing lights. To be honest they look slightly disturbing, especially when teamed with the glo-stick glasses Nick’s also sporting, so we’re fairly sure of impressing the band when we finally decide to reveal them. There’s a bit of an odd atmosphere around today…normally on the last day of a tour everyone’s a bit demob-happy, but here everyone’s pretty focused still. Not only are the band themselves going out to Holland tomorrow to play a couple of shows, we’ve also got to drop all the PA off into another storage facility after the show tonight then drive to various parts of the UK, so although this is finishing, other things will continue after tonight, and this all conspires to dissipate that “ last show” feeling, which is actually a good thing as the end of any tour is generally quite a sombre thing. You’ve lived cheek by jowl with the same small group of people for a period of time and there’s a real co-dependency, an espirit de corps, that grows up around the group. You spend more time with these people in any given twenty-four hour period than you do with your own partner and family, and when the tour ends and that support network is snatched away, the adjustment period can be very difficult. I know I’ve already made the analogy between this and being in a military unit, and that really is the closest parallel I can think of, the only difference being that we’re not in harm’s way and no-one’s trying to kill us….though I must say Nick’s farts have had a damn good go, being pitched somewhere between mustard gas and pure sulphur. He REALLY needs to see a doctor…..Soundcheck is dispensed with in fairly short order, as we have another pressing engagement straight afterwards. Some promoters from Holland are coming to meet with us to talk about the possibility of taking the show there for a lengthy tour, and so after soundcheck we repair to the bar with these good people and set about the next step of achieving world domination for this show. For some reason no-one seems to like my idea of annexing the Sudetenland and then invading Poland…….It’s finally time for the doors to open and as I’m out front talking to the box office staff I see our friends and fans start to come in. I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise most profusely to one of them, the lovely Irene. For some reason our intelligence had informed us that this good lady was actually called Linda, and she was far too sweet to correct us. Irene, you now take your true place in our pantheon of Superfans ! Jim is here too, of course, as are Marilyn and Debbie and our mates Martyn and Simon. Although they’re both “ in the biz” and therefore well able to wangle their way onto guest lists, every time we come down here these lads buy their tickets for our shows as they know our earnings are based on a percentage of door takings, and that every little helps. Respect, guys…..Dawn can’t be here tonight but we know she’s with us in spirit, and whilst I’ve already thanked these good people in previous pages, let me once more send our love to them all, and to everyone who drives all over the country to support us and this show. You truly make the whole thing worthwhile, and we want you to know how much your dedication and enthusiasm means to us. We don’t want to let these folks down tonight, and there IS sometimes a danger that a last show can be anticlimactic, but this is us and The Overtures I’m talking about here….that’s never going to happen, is it ?! Everyone in the audience knows this is the last night and they’re set on making it as good for us as we are for them. They’re loud and totally up for it. When we first came to Worthing we were a bit worried it was all going to be a bit genteel and polite and blue rinse-y, but we’ve ALWAYS had a great crowd here, and tonight’s no exception. Because of the tightness of space on our side of the stage, Tomps and I are rather oddly sitting with our backs to the audience, but they’re just on the other side of the speaker stacks, and every time we glance round we can see clapping hands and smiling faces. It’s just a joy tonight….no technical issues, the band are playing brilliantly, the big stage with it’s concert lighting rig looks fantastic, and the crowd are totally engaged. If the Dutch folks don’t buy in on the strength of THIS performance, I’m going to go and piddle in their clogs….The feedback drone from the guitars finally heralds the intro to the last number of the last show on the last day of the tour, and the lads set off on the final rampage through “ Spirit “. The lights are flashing, the sound’s kicking, the band are tearing it up through the smoke and haze onstage, and every person in the hall is up and rocking ( including all of the crew, Predator / Marley wigs a-flashing ). This is it, the very essence, the distillation, of why we do this and what we want to achieve with it. We KNOW this is the best show of it’s kind in the UK today….and we’re going to make sure everyone else knows it ! Finally, sadly, the last crashing chords bring down the curtain on the tour. Den kindly invites the crew onstage with the band to join them in the final bow, and I have to say I’ve never felt more part of a team, of a musical family. I’m half hoping Rodders will leave his lighting desk and peg it the length of the hall to join us up here, as he’s been one of the pillars of that family, but he’s far too pro for that !! It’s over…but it isn’t over, as we’ve now got even more work to do. Apart from loading the two normal vans, we’ve also got to pick out the gear and stage clothes the band need for Holland, and load them into a THIRD vehicle, a cool “splitter” bus from our mates at Tiger Tours in Wembley. To complicate matters, because we’re still running the hire van we picked up in Eastleigh, all of the gear aboard THAT has to be offloaded tonight before the van ends up in High Wycombe ( don’t ask…I was there and even I don’t really understand what happened ). As such we’re going with the two main vans in convoy to Nick’s storage place in Essex before finally going our separate ways. Rodders is then driving to Wycombe before leaving the van and jumping a cab to Reading station, where he’ll board a train for St Ives in Cornwall. Pug, Tomps and I have the much shorter trip back to Northamptonshire whilst everyone else, bolstered by the presence of Den’s lad George, will stay aboard the Bogey tonight before leaving John and heading off to Holland in the morning. It’s a bit of a sad and dislocated way to end things…I don’t even SEE Steve after the gig, and have just the briefest of words with Big John before he dons his Beerhunter hat and heads off in search of the Lost Pub. A quick handshake with Den, Chris and Phil and a hug with Jamie ( well, he IS the hottie, after all…) and they’re gone. It’s still bucketing down and the wind is apparently reaching gusts of Gale Force Six, so we know we need to get a wiggle on here. Nick and George, knowing how far we have to go and how much we have to do, bravely give us their best “ You go on ! Leave us here …we’ll only slow you down !! “ film cliché, and start to load the splitter themselves. Pausing only to say goodbye and our heartfelt thanks to Roy, the lovely Ray and the even lovelier Carol, we head off into the maelstrom of this stormy Sussex night. We’re done. But to paraphrase an old theatrical saying, “ It isn’t over until the fat bloke has written another blog entry “. Keep it here, kids……

Newport Riverfront Friday April 27th

There’s a lot of excitement and anticipation about tonight’s show. We came to Newport on our first full tour and had an absolute blast of a gig, with a good-sized crowd and a great atmosphere, and we know that the advance sales of this have been strong, so we’re all revved up. Fortified by a very splendid full English breakfast at the hotel in Eastleigh, we set off for Wales. I’ve already made a comment in a previous blog about the weird-arse arrangement that sees you paying to get IN to Wales, but getting out for free., and as we have many Welsh fans, I’ll just discreetly draw a veil over this somewhat bizarre arrangement. The only thing I WILL say is that it costs TWELVE AND A HALF BLOODY QUID to get a Transit into the principality, so I’m seriously considering having a word with some of those nice chaps at the Sangatte refugee camp at Calais and seeing if they can hook me up with some human traffickers who would be prepared to smuggle the vans ashore at Barry Island. …We’re back at The Riverfront today, a fabulous place with a great crew who still hold our nearly three-year old record for the fastest get-out. Stevenage equalled it once, but these folks really are the badger’s bathrobe. It helps that the stage is mahoosive, so everything’s easy to get at. In fact, if we reckon we could fit the entire Concorde Club into the Gordon Craig load dock, then here we could accommodate the club, adjoining hotel, outbuildings, car park and possibly the nine-hole golf course. It’s big. Last night we were crammed onto an 18’ x 12’ platform, tonight we could invite the entire population of the little country town where I live to come and sit on the stage, and we’d still have room to run a sheep-dog trial ( they must be little bastards, those sheep dogs…they’re ALWAYS on trial, aren’t they ? Must be something in the Winalot ) . In fact, so big is the stage that when the set starts it’s almost as though everyone’s TOO far apart, as it feels a bit dislocated up here and takes a couple of songs to kick things into gear. Tomps and I are so far away from the band that we can almost hold a normal conversation while they’re playing ( well, as normal as our conversations ever get ), while at stage left Pug is employing semaphore to communicate with the band across the great swathe of space that divides them. There’s also a really long forestage here ( I said foreSTAGE) which can be lifted up on hydraulics when they need to increase the platform size. Tonight, though, it’s retracted to floor level, meaning that we’ve got a pretty cool area between the front of the stage and the first rows of seats which is just crying out for a bit of unabashed Welsh rug-cutting later on. In some places these gaps are slightly intimidating, but here’s it just looks like a party waiting to happen ( Note to band, crew and self : Do not disappoint ! ). The moment the lads have got their collective mojos doing whatever mojos do when they get together, we know that this one is going to be a corker. It’s the noise that I notice first; even this far from the centre of the stage and the crowd, it’s a deep, full-throated response to each song that literally sends a shiver down my spine. There’s no substitute for sheer numbers when you’re looking for a bit of crowd reaction, let me tell you. I’ve also decided that as the stage is the size of, say, Wiltshire, tonight’s the night when I do a wee bit of experimenting with the pyrotechnics. Now, those of you who have followed the show through all three tours will have witnessed the sparkly whoosh that accompanies the intro to Pinball Wizard, and may even remember the slightly erratic flame effects that used to be in Light My Fire ( see what we did there ?). The latter were gradually phased out after a series of misfires and failures, and though I briefly tried to resurrect them in Buxton on this tour with pathetic, sub-cigarette lighter intensity results, we’re really totally over them now. However, some time ago the nice lady from Le Maitre, the company which makes the whizzbombs, gave me a little box of sample pyros, and they’ve been sitting in my pyro box ever since, waiting for the opportune moment. Well, this is that moment. Some of these things are, quite frankly, terrifying, and they’ll stay RIGHT where they are, thank you. However, I’ve had two of these little fellows, called Mini Gerbs, nudging my brain all day, so tonight I decide I’m going to give them a go. I know what a Gerb does ( roughly ) and I know that this one has a 10’ wide fallout area and a 10’ height. What I DON’T know is how long the burn time is….Gerbs are a little longer-lasting than the instantaneous ignition of my usual Silver Jets…and I make an educated guess, but it IS still a guess. At the appointed time, just as the solos finish in Light My Fire, I hit the red button, and a pleasingly high jet of sparks fills the stage on either side of Steve’s drumkit. The song moves towards it’s conclusion, and still the jets of sparks fountain up. Now they’re coming to the “ big ending” but that’s one thing the Gerbs are showing no sign of doing. Despite the fact that they’re only about four inches long, they pack a bloody wallop alright, and they’re STILL in full effect as the band gather for the big crash ending of the song. For a horrible moment I’ve got visions of Jamie having to go onstage for the acoustic intimacy of Handbags And Gladrags with Mount Etna and Mount Vesuvius here still spitting out sparkly mayhem behind him, but with virtually no warning they fizzle out. JUST in time. Only one conclusion to make, of course. These are AWESOME….I need several boxes of them RIGHT NOW. The extra little bit of wow factor that we managed to get from the additional pyros stands us in good stead, and in the final run for home of the second set the house is, as someone once said, a-rockin’. So a-rockin’ is it, in fact, that it’s with something approaching disbelief that we hear Den call for Walk Alone as the encore, but then he’s made a big thing tonight about the Welsh being great singers, so probably it IS the right call. As soon as the beep on the last VT insert has gone, we’re straight on the stage. Reputations are at stake here !! Like a little army of dervishes we rapidly strip the stage and lob the gear into the two vans. We’ve given the house crew a five- minute handicap margin as last time we had a single 7.5 tonner and it was a lot less fiddly,, but they don’t need it….and it’s EXACTLY the same time as last year, one hours and four minutes. Phenomenal…..and just as well, because there’s a lot of piddling about going on tonight ! Nick and one of the other crew are driving after the show to a halfway house and will then carry on the next morning to Wembley, where they’ll pick up a “splitter” minibus from Tiger Tours. This is because the band is going straight to Holland after tomorrow night’s show, so we’ll need to sort out who’s taking what gear as it comes off the stage at Worthing.. At the same time, Rodders and I drive the rented van , staying just ahead of John and the Bogey, and we do the run from Newport all the way down to Worthing.. Very mixed feelings on the drive down….part of me just wants to get back home to start sorting my life out, part of me wants this to carry on forever, and part of me wonders how many sticks of seaside rock it’d take to equal my body weight.….We break the journey at Chieveley services and share a coffee and a stream of inappropriate jokes with John and Pug before heading off on the last stretch. The weather’s not great, which doesn’t augur well for tomorrow, and we know that we can’t get right into the gig and powered up until 7.00am, so we pull up outside the venerable old Assembly Hall at just before 5.30am. Rodders and I get aboard the bus and I work out how much sleep I’m going to get before John or I have to go out and meet the dude with the barrier key. I’m still in the middle of this process ( or so I thought ) when I suddenly wake up with a stiff neck and a face covered by an interesting lattice pattern from the non-slip surface of the table I’ve been lying on. John’s just firing up the engine, which means it must be seven am and time to move. Outside it’s pissing down, freezing cold and blowing a gale. This’ll be Worthing, then. Last show………………..

Eastleigh Concorde Club Thursday April 26th

Well, we always knew today was going to be different….we just hadn’t realised quite how different ! We’ve been pretty lucky on this tour with things like breakdowns and issues with the gear, but today it all came home to roost. Two of our happy band set out early for Eastleigh in the vans to meet up with the local promoter and make a decision as to whether or not the screens could be used, or if we had to hire some in. Trouble is, only one of them makes it. The other van expires in a cloud of steam just north of the M4, necessitating the assistance of the good ole boys of the AA, and the word we get is that the van will be relayed to Eastleigh where they’ll try to find a garage to repair it there. So far so slightly calamitous, but things were about to get hairier. Rodders arrives at the venue to meet the local chappie, only to find that a) there was no sign of said chappie and b) there was a bloody wake going on in the room, meaning that we couldn’t get in until 4pm !! Not quite sure how the folks at The Concorde managed to withhold this piece of information from us, but withhold it they did. The other trouser-dampening moment was when we had to park the bus in the venue’s car park, as there was a fairly large, and certainly very woody tree branch stretching across the road at what looked like just about bus front window height. As it turns out, there was about six inches clearance, but for a moment we thought we were just going to have to park the Bogey on the main road outside the club. As it’s so small and inconspicuous, surely there would have been no way it would have attracted the attention of the local constabulary…..I’ve actually decided that if ever I’m in a potential survival situation, I want to have Big John with me. No sooner have I wiped the perspiration of relief from my brow that he’s got parked without damage or incident, than he’s all powered up and set for the day. This man could find electricity, wine and a cheese board in the middle of the Gobi desert. He’s not of this world…We get the word that the nice man, the very nice man, the very very nice man from the AA is going to drop the poorly van off at the gig to let us unload before he takes it to the garage, which is a right bonus as it saves us about an hour, but the joy of that is slightly offset by the “replacement rented van” incident. Once we realise we need another vehicle, I call the local branch of a well-known national car rental firm who shall remain nameless ( Enterprise )and explain our predicament. I tell them we need a long-wheelbase Sprinter or Transit and am told “ yes, we have one “, so they send a very nice young lady over to pick me up and go to their office. I go through the whole rigmarole…name, address, date of birth, place of birth, inside leg measurement, firstborn child, deeds to the house etc, then cough up an eye-watering amount of money. Finally they bring round the van…and initially I think it’s a Tonka version of a real Transit. One thing I DO know, long wheelbase it isn’t, and suddenly the very real prospect of half our gear being left on a Hampshire pavement rears it’s ugly head. I’m stuck now, though, so I head back to the Concorde Club, where I’m greeted by mayhem. Before I go any further, let me tell you about the Concorde. It’s a famous jazz club, and as such it has the low-ceilinged, split-level, plush-carpeted ambience associated with such venues. However, it’s fairly recently started hosting more mainstream shows such as ours, and they’d been very keen to have us, so our agent put in a date. The main problem we have is that we’re in the middle of a theatre tour, so we’ve got a theatre stage’s worth of gear. The entire square footage of the Concorde, however, would fit into the loading dock of somewhere like Stevenage Gordon Craig, so it’s a total flight-case fest as everyone scrambles for space. As the ceiling above the stage is really low, we can’t fly the projectors as we normally do. This means we have to put them low down to each side of the band, which in turn means that every time they move they become living projection screens, with a side order of blindness into the bargain. Still, in the immortal words of Professor Stephen Hawking, “ That’s the way the piss-pot cracks” so on we go with it. In all seriousness there’s really no way this size of show should be getting shoe-horned into a place like the Concorde Club, but they really wanted it, and we’re nothing if not versatile. We’ve already managed to work a kind of Tardis-like magic on the rental van….it’s got so much gear in it now that you’d swear it was bigger inside than out, and so getting a theatre’s worth of kit onto an 18’ x 12’ stage is a mere bagatelle for us ! The only other problem we face is that there’s a nucleus of regulars who come to have a meal and watch the jazz acts, and quite a few of them are here tonight as well, on an elevated section at the back of the room. Everyone else is at tables and chairs in a cabaret-style seating arrangement, and it’s decidedly odd. Marilyn arrives just as we’re about ready to start soundchecking, casts her eyes around the place and declares it “ intimate “. It certainly is….I’ve worn bigger boxer shorts. The other departure from the norm is that we’re not on at our usual 7.30 or 7.45pm…we’re on jazz hours here, so we don’t go on until NINE ! They do feed us a very, very pleasant dinner, but by 8.45pm everyone’s drooping, and before we go all you can hear in the room is the murmur of conversation and the clatter of cutlery. …not exactly conducive to atmosphere. As we haven’t been able to work out a way of getting the screens to run the full set of slides and animations, I find myself in the unusual and not totally pleasant situation of being redundant tonight….apart from not being able to do the full visuals, there are no comms either, nor can we use the pyro due to the low roof, so I’m sitting this one out. When the band first take the stage the response is a little muted, and the noise of the diners and hubbub of conversation are very off-putting, but as the set progresses there’s a definite shift in the audience attitude as they realise this isn’t just another band going through the motions but a full-bore, full-blown show. The band’s sheer excellence and the visual impact of the production we’ve managed to get in here start to make people turn towards the stage and not towards each other at a dining table, and eventually the first dancers get up and the cheers and applause get louder and longer. By the end of the second set we’ve wiped the floor with the audience, and we’re beset by people telling us it’s the best show they’ve seen in years or the best one they’ve seen in the club or whatever. I think even Marilyn was impressed; she’s seen the band themselves in smaller venues many, many times, but this is a different beast altogether. In the end all the broken-down vans, late load-ins, small stages, lack of space and audience ennui are forgotten, and this genteel corner of Hampshire becomes a heaving, sweaty rock club. At the end of the night there’s a BIT of a shock as suddenly we hear a shouty man with a distorted speaker exhorting the audience to cheer for yet more encores. …this is the evening DJ, and what he lacks in subtlety he fortunately make up for for in great tunes. Old classics like Stevie Wonder’s Higher Ground and George McCrae’s Rock Your Baby bring back happy memories of school discos, Top Of The Pops, teenage fumbling and the subsequent slapped faces. As the music’s so loud I can bellow along to these songs to my hearts content, and I must admit, Faithful Blogreader, that if there had been a rug onstage, I most certainly would have cut it. It really IS a lovely venue, just a bit of an odd fit for what WE’RE doing. Jamie and Danielle from the club are both smashing folks and very helpful, and so a day that started out as a nightmare turns out really very fine indeed. There are beers at the bar after, as we’re staying here tonight, with the promise of both a shower AND a full English in the morning before we leave for Welsh Wales. It is, in fact, very civilized, and Tomps and I both resolve to come back here for a jazz night and a meal and to stay at the hotel . Not like on a date, of course…that would be just too weird…so if anyone out there fancies some cool jazz and hot grub, applications on a postcard to the usual address, please !!

Tewkesbury The Roses Theatre Wednesday April 25th

We stay overnight at the Brewhouse, which gives us an extra opportunity to further scandalize the curtain-twitchers of the Grumpy Valley Residential Complex, before rolling out Tewkesbury – bound. When Big John stops for diesel this time I only whimper slightly when I go to pay for it…I must be getting stronger. For the first time on this tour I sit up front with John as we head up the M5, and am given a sobering lesson in how different it is driving a big old beast like the Bogey, and how good a driver John is. You have to look waaaaaaay further up the road than you do in a car to anticipate hazards, roadworks, and most specifically, the semi-insane antics of people who shouldn’t even have been given a cycling proficiency certificate, let alone a driving license. At road level you’re not as aware of this normally, but in the elevated cab of the bus you can see all the lane-switching, late-braking, mobile phone-using, makeup-applying madness first hand. John DOES throw the odd corrosive epithet at a particularly mental driver from time to time, but by and large he’s a picture of cool professionalism…and when the bus is sideswiped by a mighty wind, he gently lets her drift with the gust then smoothly corrects her line. On the rare occasions I’ve been driving a 7.5 tonner in high winds, I tend to react to these gusts by wrenching the wheel in the opposite direction, sending the truck careering across several carriageways and large parts of the surrounding countryside, but John is all Zen-like calm, and a pretty fascinating chap to sit and talk to as well. Did you know the first number one in the official Top Forty was sung by Al Martino ? Or that The Joker in the early Batman series was played by Caesar Romero ? Or that the Siberian Ice Squirrel only attacks when someone gets hold of it’s nuts ? Me neither, but my life is richer for the knowledge. As we pull up at The Roses Theatre, I see a large, white-hair-and- bearded chap outside talking to Nick, and he looks vaguely familiar. It’s only when we go inside and I hear someone refer to him as “ Smiffy” that the penny drops. Back in 1988, when the white hair and beard were jet black, Smiffy and I worked together with American cartoon-rockers W.A.S.P at the Castle Donington Monsters Of Rock festival. To go through all the shenanigans of that particular event would involve a blog all of it’s own, so let’s just say it involved flare pistols, sacked drummers, and a topless Page Three girl. Also at the theatre is local resident and fellow traveller in those more hedonistic times, “Krusher” Joule, former music journalist and the man responsible for the sleeve art of records by such rock gods as Ozzy Osbourne. Krusher tells me he’s currently working on a book about those ever so slightly mental days with the Oz, which, if it ever makes it past the Rottweiler vigilance of Sharon Osbourne, will be a hair-curling read. It’s good to see the old chap again after all these years, and Smiffy, who was once a slightly terrifying ex-Marine, has mellowed into a more genial giant. It’s a bit disconcerting to see how the ravages of time have left their mark on these two fine follows, and I wonder if they think the same about me. In fact they’d be blind if they don’t…back in ’88 I had a full head of hair and weighed about half of my current ballast…but I like to think Old Father Time has been kinder to me.However, I’d also like to think that I have Rupert Murdoch’s bank balance and Johnny Depp’s mysterious allure, so perhaps I should just take a BIG bite of a reality sandwich…..The Roses is a splendid little theatre which carries the stigma of being the place where comic legend Eric Morecambe performed his last one-man show before expiring of a heart attack in one of the dressing rooms, but there’s no hint of sombreness today. We’ve got the bus parked up, the shower is good, the facilities are great…now all we need is an audience. Ah. This is another one of those “ I’m sorry Tony, business here has been really bad “ theatres, so we’re looking at fairly meagre numbers again. Still, there’s nothing to be done about it…we just have to bite the bullet. The folks who HAVE turned up tonight have shelled out good money to be here, so we owe them the courtesy of giving them value for money. One thing I will say about this show is that we’re totally committed to doing just that…everyone gets the full production at all times, and it’s one of the things that will stand us in good stead for the future. Even Smiffy, gnarled old veteran that he is, is suitably impressed by the slickness and quality of tonight’s show, but admits that his favourite bit was where the band were blasting through a rock groove jam at the soundcheck !!! Old rockers never die, they just end up as Chief Tech at theatres in Tewkesbury….He also ventures the opinion that this show knocks That’ll Be The Day into a cocked hat. This is both encouraging and frustrating; we KNOW this is a better show, it’s just a case of working out how we can convince everyone else of the fact. We certainly convert a good few people to the cause tonight, especially the group of ladies right at the front who are having an absolute ball. They sing and clap along throughout, and when it’s time to get up and boogie they do so with vigour although, it must also be said, with a curious lack of anything approaching a sense of rhythm. Tonight’s crowd is another “ little and loud “ one, and they really seem to get what we’re trying to do here. They love the acoustic stuff as much as the poppier songs and the full-bore rampages, and I notice at least one couple whose attention is very firmly fixed on the images we’re firing up onto the screens. The show really does have something for everyone…now all we need is for everyone to come and see it ! Despite the fact that we’re staying here tonight and have several decent pubs within striking distance, everyone stays on the bus where a lively, and occasionally heated, discussion about the merits of such media as Facebook and it’s impact on individual privacy takes place. It’s all interesting stuff, and only very mild violence is involved. Surprisingly, pretty much everyone drifts off to bed quite early, which is maybe just as well. Tomorrow is the weirdest show on the tour, The Concorde at Eastleigh, where we can’t actually put the normal production in. Much fannying about will ensue.. Still, what could possibly go wrong….?!