Bedford Corn Exchange Friday April 13th

So we decide to go overnight to Bedford, and figure that this time as John’s got a short detour to drop the band off in Welwyn, we should get to Bedford at about the same time. For once it actually works…Rodders and I arrive in the van just far enough ahead of him to realise that the venue haven’t left out the power cable for the bus or opened the load bay gates for the van. Great. We head off around the block to find somewhere to park
( without success ) and when we return the Corn Exchange’s burglar alarm is blaring like the Crack of Doom. John pulls up at that very minute, and we realise that there’s no way we’re going to be able to park up and have people try to sleep right under the hellish din. I call the local police but the building hasn’t got a police response arrangement, so there’s nothing they can do. Tired and fratchy from the five – hour drive, we’re having trouble even thinking, let alone sleeping, when as if by magic, it stops. The ensuing silence is blissful, so we pile aboard and crash out as soon as we can in case it starts again. Today’s a day off, but the Corn Exchange guys are really helpful when we wake up at 9.00am and go to see if we can have access to the showers, so as soon as the power cable’s out we’re set fair for the day. For me it’s a day of catching up on work AND sleep, for Tomps and the others it’s a chance to see how much cider can be consumed by the average human within a twelve – hour period. The answer, unsurprisingly, is quite a lot. Tomps has an almost superhuman capacity for the juice of the apple, and although he’s having trouble with the odd thing like walking, talking and staying upright, we just know he’s going to be fine in the morning, which just isn’t fair. He decides quite late in the evening to wander off to his girlfriend’s house and sleep there. As she lives in Doncaster this presents quite a problem. As expected, he tips up the next morning looking as fresh as a daisy, whilst all around him is carnage. Even I feel hungover, and I’d just had a single pint. We decide that as we’re already here, we’ll do the load-in early, so we get the first van emptied in record time, and then Steve and Jill turn up in the second van, nice and early as they’d promised, and by one o’clock we’re all loaded in and ready to start building. The head technician here, Marcello, is a seriously good bloke, and we’ve known him years, so it’s always a pleasure to come back and work with him. Today he agrees to let Rodders use all the house moving lights as well as our own, so our boy gleefully sets to work plotting some magic. We know tonight’s done well, too, added to which we’ll have a good few guests. Arthur and I were based here for many years and as such a lot of our suppliers are local, so this is a nice opportunity to get them along and say “thanks”. It’s also close enough to the band’s home patch for friends and rellies to come up, so it’s with some trepidation that I hand in the guest list with thirty – six names on it ( we’re allowed ten ! ). We have a good and long-standing relationship with the Corn Exchange, though, and there are no issues about this. One of the things we like about the venue is that it’s a got a visible, aluminium truss-style lighting grid rather than the conventional theatre lighting bars which are masked by tabs and drapes, so it actually looks like a big touring rig. This makes everything look more upscale than it actually is, and we’re really looking forward to seeing it in action. Rodders runs through a few of his programmed plots for Steve and Jill during the afternoon, and Steve’s very impressed….like the rest of us onstage, he’s never actually seen the show, so it’s good for him to get even an idea of what the audience see. When the doors finally open, I’m very surprised to note a large number of young people coming in, and even more pleased to see that most of them are female ( purely from a demographic point of view, you understand ! ). I make a mental note to ask the Corn Exchange where they advertised….one of the things we’re very much after with the show is to widen our appeal to younger people. These songs are SO timeless that literally everyone knows them, even if it’s via the soundtrack to Vampire Diaries or some such brain- numbing American poo, and so there’s no reason why everyone shouldn’t get SOME enjoyment out of the show. We’ve also got the .Uber-Booties like Marilyn and Dawn who support us through thick and thin, and I can see from her position in the front row that Marilyn’s ready as ever to lead the charge as soon as the band ask the audience to get up and
dance ! Right from the opening announcement, which gets a huge laugh, tonight is special. It’s a big crowd and they make a big noise, and you can see from the band’s faces that they know this is going to be a good one. The sound is great, and the lighting looks amazing, and as the band go into the psychedelic section and Rodders fills the stage with swirls and swathes of colour and movement, I suddenly realise why this is all so exciting. It’s because I can see the future. I don’t mean in a “ you’re going to meet a tall, dark stranger who will tell you he can help you reclaim PPI insurance on any loan you may have taken out over the last five years “ kind of way, but in a “ I can see where this show will be in a couple of year’s time “ kind of way…on big stages, with a touring lighting rig that’s totally bespoke to our needs as opposed to us having to adapt what’s already in the building, and with crowds that respond to all the high, lows and nuances of the set. It’s almost impossible to pick out a highlight tonight…Den’s solo Dylan turn gets as big a cheer as the band’s stormtrooping You Really Got Me, and even the pyrotechnics get a cheer of their own in Pinball Wizard. Den knows he can do and say no wrong here…it’s what a football pundit would call “ a partisan crowd”. The Corn Exchange have a slightly odd policy of not letting anyone dance in front of the stage, so we’ve got plenty of people bopping away in the side aisles long before the end, but as Mony Mony kicks in. Marilyn jumps to her feet, and like a little Boadicea leads her hordes in a joyful celebration of this music, this band, this show. It’s just beautiful. The band go off to a roar of acclamation more befitting Old Trafford or Stamford Bridge than this little town in Bedfordshire, and when they come back on, only one thing is going to satisfy these rabid fruggers. The sustained feedback into of Spirit In The Sky kicks the volume of the cheers up another couple of notches, and as the signature guitar hook winds sinuously out of the squall of noise, literally everyone in the place, crew included, is clapping along and grinning with pure daft pleasure..When this finally gives way to Steve’s heavy artillery salvo of drums and the full band get the motor running and head off down the highway, I’m suffused with the utter certainty that this is the best show I’ve ever seen us do. EVERYTHING is right…venue, sound, lights, visuals, band, crowd….and it distils the very essence of why we do this. It justifies the hard work, the miles of travel, the lack of sleep, the worrying about money. It’s a total vindication of our belief in the whole thing. It’s cost us time, months of effort, cash ( LOTS of cash ) sleepless nights and even relationships, but tonight I see that this, our brainchild, our baby, has finally grown up into a tough little bruiser that isn’t going to be bullied into submission or have sand kicked in it’s face by other shows. So listen up everyone else out there in theatreland…..start looking over your shoulders because the new kid on the block has laid down his marker…..

It's a Pug's Life.....Day Off, Bedford, Thursday April 12th

Got up. Had a shower. Went for breakfast. Had a beer. Had a curry. Had more beer. Had even more beer.Laughed at Tomps who had had more beer than anyone. Went to bed.

( He's a man of very few words......)

Porthcawl Grand Pavilion Wednesday April 11th

I’m actually starting to hate the van. I mean REALLY hate it. Not in any kind of driver-ey, performance-y, miles – per – gallon-ey way, but in the way you hate someone you spend way too much time with, especially when you’re in discomfort. After the show last night, Nick Rodders and myself took off in the vans heading for Wales, anticipating that the bus would be relatively close behind us. As it’s literally downhill all the way from the West Midlands to Wales we managed to keep up a decent speed, and as tiredness started to really kick in we decided to take a break at Strensham services on the M5. After a fairly leisurely snack and a coffee we climbed back in the vans and headed onto the M50. I texted back to Junior on the bus to try and find out how far behind us they were, only to learn that they were literally just reversing out of the car park at Leamington !! We decided that it’d be pointless waiting where we were as fatigue was starting to be a real issue, so we pressed on. It was at this point that the heater quit on us again. And yes, we WERE wearing shorts. At least it wasn’t snowing, but it was still BLOODY cold. After an enforced coffee stop to try and thaw out we managed to get the heater working again, which was just as well. We arrived at the venue at 3.30am, did a quick status check with the bus and realised that it was still a couple of hours away. There’s nothing to do but sit and wait, and this is when the hatred of this little metal box really starts to take hold. We’re parked outside a residential area, so we can’t really keep the engine running, and that means the temperature drops. And drops. And drops. We try to doze but it’s too cold and cramped, and I have to say that, apart from the Misery On The Mountain a couple of days back, this is just the worst. To add insult to injury the venue haven’t left out the power cable for the bus when it DOES arrive, but right now I’d settle for sleeping in the luggage bay . John finally pulls up at about 5.20am, and as we haven’t got the power cable, tells us we’ve got about two minutes to get to bed before everything has to switched off, so we jump aboard and wrap ourselves in our duvets…..for about an hour, after which the sleeping compartment, bereft of the air conditioning and super-heated by the effluvia of several flatulent members of the touring party, has turned into something resembling the Black Hole Of Calcutta. Gasping for breath I wrench open the bunk curtains to try and get some fresh air, only to be met by the sight of a semi-naked Pug, sweating like Gary Glitter in Toys R Us and hoofing his duvet onto the floor. It’s not pleasant. Although it’s still way to early to be getting up, this just isn’t bearable, so I drag my sorry carcass out of the bunk and trudge over to the venue for a shower. At least the sun’s shining again, just as it did when we were here last year, and there’s no doubt about it, it DOES lift the spirits. It’s way too chilly to have a yomp up and down the beach, but it’s still very pleasant , and the brisk wind blows the cobwebs away a bit. The Grand Pavilion is a strange old gaff….. it was only converted into a theatre relatively late in it’s life, and has a very strong kind of “ music hall” vibe about it. It’s got an octagonal dome which the venue blurb describes as “ interesting “, but this is, of course, using the much lesser known meaning of the word , which is “ acoustically, as much use as tits on a
bull “. The sound goes up. It goes down. It goes around. It goes up, down and THEN around. It echoes here. It’s dead there.. It booms here. It’s dry there. In short, it’s a swimming – pool of crippling natural echoes, reverbs and laws-of-physics-defying acoustical fart-arsing around. It’s pants. Nice house crew, though….When we were here last year it was Junior’s birthday, and we were a mere day or two away from the end of that tour. This year we’re just over the halfway mark, so there isn’t quite the same “ de-mob happy” air around the place, but everyone’s still pretty chilled. We’re cracking through the build and soundchecks at record pace now, and that means more time to do the important stuff, like source out the best local fish and chip shops. Unfortunately it turns out that our navigation skills aren’t up to our information gathering skills, and we can’t actually find Finnigan’s, acknowledged as the best chippy in the country, apparently. We make do with Beale’s, Purveyor By Appointment To The Chavvy Holiday Hordes Of South Wales, and the hunger gap is duly filled. The show itself is an odd one…..in addition to the mental sound characteristics of the venue, the stage is also inordinately high for a theatre of this size, and the combination of the audience being so far below, with their applause going straight upwards, swirling about the dome for a bit then doing a left towards Swansea or somewhere, all makes for a weird sense of dislocation from the crowd. I see that Den’s struggling a bit to make the connection tonight, but as ever with these boys, it’s really only us that are aware of the problems; to the audience it’s just a great show, and this is borne out by the attitude of the folks who come back after the show to get autographs and meet the band. The amount of times we hear “ This is the best show we’ve seen for ages “ or “ We’re going to tell all our friends to come next time “. If success were measured by audience response alone, we’d all be sitting in our Beverley Hills mansions ordering a flunkey to bring us a cup of fresh unicorn tears or something equally exotic. Instead, we’re getting aboard the Bogey and heading for a day off in the fleshpots of Bedford, where, to slightly paraphrase a Disneyworld sales tagline, the magic never begins. The band will be dropped off en route and we’ll rendezvous with them on the showday at the Corn Exchange in Bedford. One of our party is on a mission, though….Steve’s getting in one of the vans to head back straight home by himself. It was his wedding anniversary today and he’s off to see the lovely Jill directly…..none of this wasting time doing detours and drop-offs for him…like a little homing missile he roars off into the Welsh night, and hits the M4 as if he were Sebastian Vettel on amphetamines. For Rodders and I it’s back in the Van Of Hatred , and we head for Bedford at a more leisurely pace. A MUCH more leisurely pace. Now, if only we can get there at about the same time as the bus…….THOUGHT FOR THE DAY…..If the worst comes to the worst, you can always be a bad example.

Leamington Spa Royal Spa Centre Tuesday April 10th

There’s a very definite case of “ Day Off Syndrome” at work here today…..we had Easter Sunday and Monday off and now we’re trying to get our groove back !! You don’t exactly forget what you’re meant to be doing, but you DO lose the “ autopilot “ mentality a bit. There’s also a little post - alcohol sluggishness to contend with in some cases, though I’m not naming any names, Pug. As most people could get home quite easily they did so after the Bromsgrove gig but for Rodders ( St Ives ) and John ( Newcastle ) it wasn’t practical, so they stayed with the bus. However, we didn’t want to just stick them in a lay-by somewhere, so I came up with the wizard wheeze of getting John to park the bus outside my house in Oundle, Northamptonshire. Only one teeeeeeeny tiny problem…I haven’t actually moved in yet, but no matter…I have the keys and thought the lads could at least use the shower and loo. As it transpired, one of my sisters – in – law was using the place as her “ to be sold on eBay” store, so there was an unexpected three-piece suite in the otherwise empty gaff. The electricity was on as well, so they could stay warm, and there are plenty of good local pubs and places to eat. It’s a in a very quiet part of a very quiet town, though, and I hadn’t reckoned on the impact that the arrival of a bloody great green double-decker bus would have on the neighbours. They were doing everything but run guided tours to have a look at the Bogey, and I’m reliably informed that there’s one nosey old witch in particular that had to be persuaded not to call the police as she though that “ the gypsies were moving in”. Daft bat…I mean, you ALWAYS see gypsies and travellers in tour buses, don’t you ? She could apparently be spotted day and night at her window complete with binoculars, checking for signs of washing being hung out or scrap metal being bought and sold. All I can say is just wait until I actually LIVE there, Mrs Sticky-Beak….THEN I’ll give you something to bloody talk about. Just as Tomps has an inbuilt mental Wetherspoons app, so John can find boozers and someone to talk to with unerring accuracy. As I was zooming about the country all weekend I didn’t really see the lads on Sunday at all, but I’m reliably informed they may a significant contribution to the retirement funds of several local publicans. When my daughters and I turned up on Sunday night to take John and Rodders out for something to eat, John decided to pass as he had a bit of a stomach upset. I asked him if he’d eaten anything that hadn’t agreed with him, and he replied, slightly puzzled,
“ Nah, man, ah just had six pints and a curry this lunchtime….”. As I explained, if I’D had six pints and a curry at lunchtime I’d have been in A & E, but he said he’d be fine on his own, so the four of us went out for a very nice meal. When we got back he wasn’t there, so we figured he’d either gone to bed or was resting on the bus. But no. He’d had
“ a bit of a thirst on “, so he’d headed back into town for a further several pints and a cheese board. The man’s an animal…..By the time I go to the house this morning to pick Rodders up, John’s already left to go and get the band, so we drive off to get the other lads, waving gaily at Mrs Curtain-twitcher as we pass. There’s a SLIGHT logistical issue today, as we’ve got to work out how to get four of us into a three – seater van. We only need to go as far as from Pug’s place to Watford Gap services, as Nick will meet us there in his van, but it’s still far from a jolly prospect. True to form, Rodders steps up to the plate and agrees to ride in the back of the van with the gear. We surround him with as much shock-absorbent material as we can find then leave him sitting on a case like a little gnome and lock him into the darkness. Luckily the journey only takes about fifteen minutes, so the poor chap’s not too bone-shaken by the time we get there. Nick and Junior are waiting for us in Nick’s van, so we welease Wodders from his rattly tomb and decant Pug into Nick’s van before setting out on the final twenty – odd miles to Royal Leamington Spa. The last time we played the Royal Spa Centre is was, frankly, a disaster. We were only the second show in after the place had been closed all summer for refurbishment, and no-one seemed to know the theatre was open again. We’d decided we wouldn’t come back, but the management had assured our agents that all was now sorted out, and that things would be much better this time around. All of which just goes to show that you can’t believe a word of what some people tell you. I’d realised there was a problem back in January when I was trying to get information to put on the posters, and couldn’t get it. To add to the mystery, every time I asked the box office for a ticket count they tried to put me through to the management or publicity departments, and I began to get the distinct feeling I was getting the runaround, so I got the agent on the case. I then went off on tour with another artiste, and when I came back everything seemed to be sorted….except that when I rang the box office for the first time on my return they didn’t even have our show on their listings. Cue BIG ranting at the agent, who in turn dispensed an earhole-bashing to the venue. To be totally honest I STILL don’t know the full story…all I do know is that we didn’t want to start cancelling shows, so we pushed on. As we arrive at this large place today, we see a solitary poster advertising our gig, and a massive one hundred and six tickets sold. OK, so some shows will do better than others, but this is just bloody maddening….after all the hoo-hah about “ doing better next time “ they’ve cocked up again. It’s disheartening for the lads and makes my blood boil, but we’re stuck with it now….just got to do the best show we can, however many are in. The only saving graces are that they’ve got the bleacher seating in, so the space in front of the stage doesn’t look quite so tundra-like, and the other thing is that the audience themselves are suitably up for it. It might make it harder for the boys, but you’d never know it, and if anything they even seem more relaxed as there’s some quality unscripted banter flying around as well as the usual top-drawer performances. As if to give the middle finger to all the tribulations of the day, they encore with Spirit In The Sky, which always makes the crew squeak with pleasure and ensures that structural repairs to the roof of the venue will be required tomorrow. Simply spectacular. It gives us a real boost, and along with the excellent house crew we get everything down and into the vans in almost record time. Tonight we’re heading off to Welsh Wales and the majesty of Porthcawl Grand Pavilion. Let the games begin……

Bromsgrove The Artrix Saturday April 7th

Another short hop today, so we make good use of the showers and the local facilities for breakfast before heading off from Market Drayton. I’m travelling with John upfront in the bus this morning, so I say I’ll pay for the diesel on my card as it’s going to be billed back to us anyway. I blithely jump out of the cab and watch as John hauls on his rubber gauntlets and whacks the pump nozzle in the Bogey’s tank. We’re chatting about this and that when I suddenly realise a fair amount of time has elapsed , and still the Bogey is slurping away. I risk a glance at the pump…..and nearly pass out. Over six hundred pounds’ worth of diesel has gone into the Bogey’s tanks, and she’s STILL not finished ! The pump finally clicks off.....Satan’s Trousers, it’s £ 702 !!! Passing a trembling hand over my suddenly feverish brow I walk unsteadily to the cashier to pay for it, half expecting my card to burst into flames or something at any minute. That’s four hundred and seventy-three litres of fuel, fact fans, and at the Bogey’s cruising rate of 10 mpg this isn’t going to be the last card-curdling fill-up of the tour. I get back aboard and decide I need a little lie down to recover…that was, frankly, terrifying. I fall into an uneasst slumber where I dream I’m being pursued by the Bogey who is yelling “ I’m thirsty ! I’m thirsty ! “ while a demonic David Cameron is standing at a fuel pump sayig “ Come and buy ! Come and buy ! All major credit cards, your soul and your firstborn children accepted !! “ It’s a relief when we get to the gig and I can start to think of something other than the robber barons…….The Artrix at Bromsgrove is one of the country’s new breed of theatre, and that’s a good thing, because it means decent access and facilities. We played here on the mini-tour in August two years ago and it was fine, so we’re not expecting any landmines today, So it turns out…the gear is up and line-checked by 3.10pm so there’s time for some work or play depending on your fancy, and then soundcheck is completed quickly and efficiently too. We can’t get used to this unexpected free time….we keep thinking we’ve forgotten something, but no, all is covered and ready to go. Why are the days so much easier, then ? Answers on a post card to the usual address, please ! At this point I’d like to deviate a little from the regular narrative to point out that during this free time today I tried to get onto the Bootleg Sixties Facebook page to update it and add some pictures. However, I realised I have no bloody idea what the user name or password are from when I first set it up, so I REALLY have no clue whatsoever as to how to get onto it. At some point I WILL do something about this, but right now I just want to say to everyone who has commented on the FB page, “ Thanks very much…normal service will be resumed as soon as possible !!” It’s another noisy crowd tonight….the advance sales had been a bit limp but it appears we’ve had a walk-up tonight as it looks pretty decent out there. Pug makes the observation that they look like the oldest crowd we’ve had on this tour, but there’s no indication of this as the lights go down and the show kicks off to loud cheers and whistles. They may be an old crowd, but they certainly know what to do !! There’s a couple on one of the side balconies who are on their feet from the first note, and stay standing for the whole show. Now THAT’S dedication !! We find out later that a fair proportion of the people here tonight saw us last time, which is an added bonus. We’re still down on audience numbers from last time, though, and that’s a problem. We’re once again back to the dilemma of what to do. We know that the economy’s been in the dumper for thee past two years, and that business across the theatre world is down, but where does that leave us ? Do we just drop the show and give up altogether ? Do we persevere even though we’re making nothing out of it ? If we DO persevere, how many years do we give it ? Five ? Ten ? Fifteen ? The problem is that we’re just SO close to the show, the people, the content and the concept that to give it up seems unthinkable. We’ll carry on as we are for now and see how things look for the winter tour this year ( dates for that tour will soon be appearing on the website, by the way……). The problem with establishing any new perennial touring show is that it DOES take a while to get into the public consciousness. Three years is the absolute minimum for this to happen, but five is more the norm. As long as the show’s good enough and popular enough, you really should be OK from then on. We see the main competition as things like That’ll Be The Day and Rockin’ On Heaven’s Door which now tour annually and sell out everywhere, but That’ll Be The day is in something like it’s twenty – sixth year, with Rockin’ On Heaven’s Door it’s twelfth or thirteenth. We’re very much the new kids on the block, and we’re not alone in the genre, either…Flying Music’s annual Solid Silver Sixties and the Sixties Gold tours peddle the original artists, whilst odd new shows like Mods Vs Rockers keep cropping up, the posters for the latter displaying an alarming similarity to ours, right down to a quote from Elton John. We just have to make sure ours is the brightest and the best, and we’re also trying to do that without any cash backing from an outside investor or theatrical impresario. There’s no doubt we’re having to do this the hard way…..we just have to hope our work and the many sacrifices we’ve made pays off in the end.When we see a reaction like tonight’s…..a stamping, cheering crowd, a standing ovation and a theatre management who are fulsome in their praise, it just makes us want to fight harder to get to the breakthrough point. We KNOW this is a great show, and that’s not false modesty, it’s a fact. What we need is for one of us to win the Lottery or Roman Abramovich to tire of football and decide he wants to invest his money in theatre instead . I mean, it’s BOUND to happen….!!!

Market Drayton Festival Centre Friday April 6th

As with the “let’s leave in the morning “ plan after Buxton, the “ let’s follow the bus down to Market Drayton “ scheme after South Shields also turned out to be something of a poisoned chalice. On paper it made loads of sense…avoid traffic, save a hotel room cost, keep us all together….but unfortunately we didn’t drive on paper, we drove on tarmac, some of which, especially the Trans-Pennine Way part of the M62, was in the form of long, steep hills. Whilst Nick’s van can negotiate these with barely an increase in revs, the other van is constantly having to be prevented from just lying down and dying by the roadside. It takes a looooooooooong time to nail this bit of the journey, so we ended up arriving at about 5.15am; the only saving grace being that the bus pulled up about ten minutes later, so we jumped aboard. By now I was so tired that I’m totally convinced my left leg hadn’t even left the floor as I was climbing into my bunk before I’d fallen asleep. I’d been out for what seemed like about five minutes when I was awoken by the bus engine roaring into sudden and unexpected life. This was a mystery, as we were already parked outside the venue and John was connected to the power line the venue had left out for us, so there was no need to run her up. Awake far earlier than I wanted or needed to be, I dressed and stumbled down to the galley. Rodders, Tomps and Nick were already there, so I asked them what in the name of Tinky-Winky had been going on. Turns out that in our knackered state last night we’d forgotten the one vital component in the whole “ connect the bus to a power line “ process…..we hadn’t switched the bloody thing on, so the batteries had run almost flat. John had woken up and realised what had happened when he saw how dim the lights were, and had switched the juice on just in time. The engine starting was just to check that all was OK. Thus hoiked from our pits, we decided that we may as well start the load-in early. We take our time over this, with some of the lads breaking away for showers or to grab a cuppa in the venue’s café, but it still goes in and up without any problems. It also gives me a chance to have a chat to Jeff Vernon, the chap who is largely responsible for the venue even being here. He’s an absolutely top bloke, and the Festival Centre is a cracking little place. It’s totally self-funded and run by volunteers, and the way they’ve turned it into the centre of the town’s community life is fantastic. This is our third time here and our third sell – out, and I have to say that there are plenty of so – called professional venues which could learn a lot from the part-time folks here. Their hospitality and friendliness is second to none, as well…they are the only venue on the whole tour to actually feed us, and Jeff unhesitatingly agrees to let the bus and vans stay the extra night to make sure we’ve got access to showers and toilets tomorrow before we set off for Bromsgrove. There is, you may recall from previous tours, another lure for me, and that is Sheila’s cakes. Now, believe it or not, I’m actually doing a semi – diet thing at the moment; it’s less a calorie-counting thing, more a “ not stuffing my face with pies and kebabs at two o’clock in the morning “ thing, and I’ve actually shed about half a stone so far. The cakes, however, are not to be denied, and thus I content myself with a single bowl of cereal until dinnertime.At soundcheck there a couple of little glitsches as Junior and Pug get to grips with the set-up by themselves for the first time, but it’s still all done in no time. Rodders, Nick and I use the free time to do some running repairs on flight cases ( especially the monitor desk case, which for some inexplicable reason had had some of the handles put on upside down. It’s been nipping knuckles and flattening fingers to the accompaniment of much cursing for about eight years, and has been one of those “ when I get round to it “ jobs we all know and love ! ). A couple of the lads go back to their bunks, others nip off for a beer, but having this little bit of time between soundcheck and showtime is a godsend. Note to self : DO THIS EVERY DAY !!! One of the odd things about the audience here is that there are a lot of really quite old people who come along…just this morning in the café I was accosted by a lady who was in her eighties at least, and she told me how much she was looking forward to coming. Fearing for her hearing ( if not her life itself ! ) I nervously pointed out that it could get “ quite loud “ to which her reply was “ Oh, I don’t mind that dear…I come to all the floor shows now and I love the loud ones !” I see her in the front row as the stage lights come up at the start of the show, and sure enough she’s bellowing along to “ I Feel Fine “ and bobbing up and down in her seat, about five feet away from the stage left PA stack. Takes all sorts, I suppose…..! This is DEFINITELY our noisiest crowd of the tour ( the lone YEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH merchant in South Shields aside ) and they know just what to expect. The band have got the measure of the place by now as well….it’s a very small stage in a small theatre, so onstage volume has to be controlled more than normal. They’re totally on the case tonight, and I have to say it sounds bloody amazing when they’re rampaging away just a couple of feet away. We COULD have done two or three encores tonight, but not only do we like to stick to the old “ keep them wanting more” premise, we feel that one encore is all the show really needs. We COULD milk it for ages but this is the better way. After the show the lads are virtually mobbed in the reception area, and it’s clear to see how loved we are around here. Now, if we could just have the venue and audience wrapped and brought with us in the vans.... It’s been another total triumph, though, and yet another vindication for what we’re trying to do with the show. You’ll notice I haven’t mentioned the cakes again…..I WAS going to let it slide but I’ve been shamed into coming clean. I did have a piece ( oh, alright, four pieces ) but they WERE quite small, though as delicious as ever ( thanks, Sheila !! ). I’ll just get back on the diet tomorrow, honest…….

South Shields Customs House Thursday April 5th

After the heroics of yesterday, having a normal day and running to normal times seems almost mundane, so to give myself some excitement I decide to drive one of the vans to South Shields. This particular vehicle ( she of the non-working heater ) has a somewhat complicated and unique relationship with facets of driving that are generally regarded as being fairly standard, such as starting, stopping and all the bits in between, and to do a decent – length drive in her would probably be best described as “ challenging “. Because she hates hills so much, you have to anticipate the road ahead with an intensity probably unparalleled outside of a Formula One racing car. If you spot anything ahead that’s steeper than, say, your doorstep, you have to immediately start building speed to give yourself the maximum run-up, otherwise you find yourself wheezing up the M6 or whatever in third gear at 35 mph, and that’s SO not a good look. You’re also constantly monitoring surrounding traffic all the time, as all it needs is for one bloat-bellied trucker or flat-capped Sunday driver to meander out in front of you as you’re trying to achieve escape velocity, and you’re knackered. When the van’s on the gallop, all other traffic has to be either overtaken or intimidated back into its’ original lane. It makes for a somewhat fraught, but never dull, drive. In fact, the most unpleasant thing about the trip north today is when we go through The Dark Place ( fellow Newcastle United supporters will know instantly that I’m talking about Su******nd ). As soon as we come close to that accursed realm, the mobile service disappears, the bright spring morning gives way to black, roiling clouds and occasional flashes of thunder, and the weeping and wailing of the poor souls doomed to dwell there, clad in their tattered red and white striped shirts, can even be heard above the clamour of the van’s engine as she strains every piston to be rid of this blighted place and reach the haven of God’s Own Country just a few leagues north.. Strictly speaking, South Shields is in the badlands south of the Tyne as opposed to Newcastle itself, but it’s still the land of the Geordie as opposed to the Mackem, the black and white as opposed to the red and white, the Magpies supporter as opposed to the terminal deluded individuals who frequent the Stadium Of Plight.. It’s a beautiful day as we roll up on the banks of the Tyne to today’s venue, the Customs House. This cool old place used to be the Customs House ( see what they did there…? ) and it’s a great little gig. I’m especially please tonight as my Auntie Joan and her husband are coming up from Darlington to see the show. I haven’t seen her in years and I think they’ll love it….she’s in her seventies but she and Don, her husband, go to any performance of the Rocky Horror Show that’s nearby, dressed in the full kit. They’re anything but shrinking violets, so tonight should be right up their street. This is also Arthur’s last show before he leaves us for ten days or so to do a European tour with another act, so there’s a lot of note – swapping going on as Arthur hands over to Pug on front of house and Pug hands over to Junior on monitors. It’s great to have Junior back on board….feels like we’re still on last year’s tour, and the banter kicks off immediately. It IS like another family, and I realise as I’m putting my bits and pieces together and listening to the others trading jokes and insults that this is one of the best crews I’ve ever worked with. It’s not just that they can pull something out of the hat like yesterday, it’s because they’re constantly good at what they do, and everyone supports everyone else. I’ve been going though a bit of tough old time on a personal level and three of the guys have already taken me aside and said “ if you need to talk you know where I am”. They don’t NEED to do this, they do it because they’re friends and because they’re family. There’s no rock’n’roll attitude, no
“ I’m far too experienced and important to do THAT”, no ego, no one-upmanship…just six people doing a job well and having a laugh at the same time.
Add in the fact that we all get on so well with the band, and by and large you’ve got a pretty happy troupe of travellers. We also have a pretty happy group of audience members tonight, though sadly not as many as we’d hoped for. We hear from the theatre staff that they’ve been stuck in a rut of shows not selling especially well over the past three months, and once again we have to remind ourselves that the country is still in the grip of recession. Fuel is stupidly expensive, tickets aren’t cheap, and jobs are scarce, especially up here, so the fact that we’re still getting a decent crowd of dedicated fans is a major bonus that will stand us in good stead when times DO improve. There’s one particular guy in tonight, though, who doesn’t seem to give a monkey’s about what’s going on outside…he’s having a total ball in a world of his own. Every time Den announces a song he lets rip with a loud “ YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH ! “. At the end of every song….same deal. As Den’s doing his introductions….yep, you guessed it…” YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH! “ WE HAD thought that perhaps he was a little….shall we say…. cerebrally challenged, but when he spoke to the boys afterwards it became clear that this was just a bloke who loved great music played brilliantly and presented to West – End standards, so he was in EXACTLY the right place ! To my immense pleasure Auntie Joan and Don and the pair of friends they brought with them loved it to, and Joan was immediately on at me to give her the winter datesheet as we’re scheduled to be playing in Stockton, even nearer to her home than tonight’s gig. She tells me that she’ll arrange a trip from the golf club she’s member of, at which point I muster an uneasy smile….one of the last times I saw her was at a golf club “ do” and I have to say the Bacchanalian antics of some of the fellow attendees would have put Caligula’s Rome to shame…but it’s a lovely thought. Only slightly odd note for us tonight was the return of
“ You’ll Never Walk Alone “ as the encore, making it the fifth different one used on the tour so far. We haven’t got the “ follow the bouncing ball “ lyrics on the screen this time ( largely as we weren’t expecting to even hear the damn thing again ) so we just run with the Bootleg Sixties logo on the three screens. This allows me the luxury of shutting down and packing up my show computer while the band are still onstage, but that’s OK….anything that gives us a head start for the load out is a bonus. We have to admit that it’s not the crew’s favourite choice….after the carpet-bombing of the final medley and the singalong lovefest of Daydream Believer, it seems like too much of a downer, though the audience apparently disagree as they bellow along with gusto ( always thought that word sounded like some kind of washing liquid. “ Hard – to – shift stains ? Get them out with Gusto ! “ ). For us, the roof – lifting version of Spirit In The Sky is king, with All Shook Up a close second…but then we’re just rock pigs who like loud noise ! We’re in Market Drayton tomorrow, which is almost a second home to us now, and after a brief conflab decide that the two vans will each take an extra crew member riding shotgun, and drive the two hundred – plus miles to Shropshire straight after the show rather than get an hour down the road, go into a hotel and do the rest of the journey in the morning. The bus will be going overnight anyway, and we’ll arrive at about the same time, so we can just jump in our bunks and sleep late. Arthur’s off in his wee hired car as well, but in his case he’s heading to East Midlands airport to fly out to France tomorrow morning. We climb into the vans ready for the nocturnal schlep south – west, and just before we set off I leave the lads with this thought from Confucius, that wise old seer. Confucius said “ Honourable man who drink five pints of lager will order more Indian food than he can possibly eat “. I mean…..profound or WHAT ?! On into the night…..