Civic Theatre Doncaster Friday Nov 30th

State Of The Nation : Rant Number One. There seems to be a great deal of stuff in the media these days about racism, and it’s generally agreed that this is a Bad Thing. Haven’t got a problem with that at all, but there are times when you DO question just what we’re doing in this country. This morning is a case in point. To save us taking more cars up to Doncaster than we need, we’ve agreed that Pug, Tomps and I will meet Damian at Peterborough Services and leave his car there, so he can ride with us. So far so straightforward. When we get to the services, both of the ticket machines are out of order, so I head inside to ask for help. The WH Smith staff point me in the direction of the Services Manager, a chap who, for the sake of convenience, we shall call Vladimir, purely because his actual name was an unpronounceable jumble of consonants. It swiftly becomes apparent that he has a English vocabulary of approximately five words, two of which are “ You bus “ ? After a few minutes of head-scratching and desperate charades I get him to understand that no, I am NOT a bus, I am a car, and I need to park, please. This latter request stumps him so totally that he beckons for me to follow him into a small back office, where he indicates another gentleman of foreign extraction, who, with apologies to Paul Whitehouse and Harry Enfield, we shall call Parking Patewayo. HIS English vocabulary is marginally bigger ( ten words at least ) three of them being “ You give money “. I patiently try to explain that I have intention whatsoever of giving him money until he gives me a ticket. Cue more charades, this time of a slightly more threatening nature, until finally the penny drops, and a smile lights up his face. He scribbles something in what appears to be Sanskrit on a piece of paper and proferrs it to me. As this whole pantomime has already taken the best part of half an hour and we have to get moving, I take it more in hope than expectation, put it on Damian’s car, and off we go. My point, laboured though it may be, is that these two men are in the PUBLIC SERVICE industry, and whilst their employers might be overjoyed that they are prepared to work for fourpence ha’penny an hour and a can of baked beans, surely the main prerequisite of any job where you’re dealing with the British public is that you can speak bloody English ? And sorry, that’s not racism, that’s just common bloody sense. It’s not their fault, of course, it’s the fault of the people who took them on, and it’s just wrong. But if we get back after the show and Damian’s car has been clamped or ticketed, then Vladimir and Parking Patewayo are going to find their underwear full of biting insects. Anyway, rant over. So, on to Doncaster Civic Theatre. We last played here on our “mini tour” three years ago, and it was a somewhat emotional night, as it was Pug’s last gig before he emigrated to Australia, to start a new life, leave the cold British weather and tough touring life behind. I remind him of this as we’re standing freezing our nadgers off, back in the same place, having just loaded in three – quarters of the way through a tour, and his tears are truly pitiful to behold….It’s actually quite sad for another reason, which is that we’ve heard the Civic Theatre will be closing next May, and events will be moving into the spanky new Civic Centre. That means that tonight will be the last time we’ll ever play here, and it’s always a shame when that sort of thing happens. This is a really nice old place, with a great atmosphere, and no matter how smart the new place may be, it’ll never be the same. The “ feel “ of an old theatre is in the stage, the lights, the seats, the décor, the old handbills, the ghosts, even the dust, and whilst a new theatre will win hands down in terms of technical facilities and creature comforts, or might have the architectural “ wow” factor like the Waterside at Aylesbury, it’ll always feel like a conference venue by comparison to somewhere like the Civic. The layout is very similar to the Plowright at Scunthorpe, another old favourite; it’s quite long and narrow and tends to funnel the crowd noise right back at the stage. As we’ve sold well tonight, we’re expecting a bit of a good ‘un. Even the fact that one of the vans got held up by a crash on the M1 and didn’t arrive until twenty past two hasn’t fazed us; in fact, we’re totally up and ready to go by quarter past three, making it one of the fastest builds we’ve ever done, and there’s a nice, relaxed feel to proceedings. We’re trying out a couple of new things tonight in deference to the impending festive season, and the runthrough goes well. I’m saying no more about these new things, Faithful Blogreader, because some of you may well be coming to one of our last three gigs, and I really don’t want to spoil the surprise. Suffice to say that, come the show, everything has exactly the effect we hope for. Maybe the best thing is for you to come to Gravesend, Harpenden or Potters Bar and see for yourselves…..!!! I’m faced with another problem tonight, and it’s one that taxes my prodigious skills (!) to their very breaking point. On our merchandise table, alongside the CDs and programmes, we’ve got some hippy - chick headbands and wristbands which band pal Dawn sourced for us. She also got us some peace - sign necklaces, which, by the same arcane process that sees odd socks disappear into another dimension and the biro you had in your hand just a minute ago vanish from the face of the earth, these seven or eight necklaces have done nothing but sit in their box, yet they have somehow intertwined their chains, laces and clasps into an impenetrable ball of metal and leather. I’m desperate to get this bugger’s muddle untangled and out on sale, and I have to admit it takes me HOURS to do so, but I finally manage it, breaking only one in the process. The enormous sense of achievement I get from this is slightly tempered by the fact that I’ve now missed the entire show and am dimly aware of people shouting at me. Oh well…everyone knows what they’re doing by now….I’m sure they don’t need my input, and after all, the pendants all look SO nice, hanging there. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it later on…..Seriously though, it’s a corking gig….it looks and sounds fantastic, and the boys are really on the ball tonight. The entire set seems to fly over tonight, not just the first half, and that’s always a good indication of when a gig’s belting along. The good people of Doncaster seem to be in the mood to send the Civic Theatre off with a bang as well, so everything combines to give us one of the best nights we’ve had on the tour so far. We’ve got mutual friend and Metal God Andy Sneap from the band Hell in tonight ( bet you can’t guess what kind of music THEY play….) and he’s most impressed with the whole production. He’s got a couple of ideas for us, but somehow I can’t see the boys going for the whole “ biting the head off a live bat “ thing…..doesn’t seem to sit too comfortably with The Monkees or the Beach Boys. By the time we’re all done and the load doors are open, the theatre has somehow been towed away from Yorkshire and dropped off the coast of Antarctica, or so it would seem from the temperature that freezes the air in our lungs as we step outside. Seeing as we’re wearing shorts and t-shirts, this probably isn’t too clever, but then we ARE Spartan warriors, and such mere hindrances as scrotum-shrivelling cold and biting, icy winds are meat and drink to us, I DID hear two small tinkling noises as something fell down my shorts leg and onto the pavement as I lifted a piece of gear into the van, so I make a mental note to do a bit of anatomy-counting when I go to the loo next. Vans packed, all that remains is for us to head south on the good old A1. Once more the headlights only seem to work on “ Full Dazzle “ but I tell the others I’m developing bat-like radar now and don’t actually need to see where I’m going anymore. Not sure why Pug is whimpering in the back seat, though……