Eastbourne Congress Theatre Sat March 26th

Having cleaned myself up from last night I head down for a “ Lite Bite “ breakfast of two eggs, four sausages, eight rashers of bacon, a mound of beans and mushrooms and two slices of toast. Well, I’m a growing lad…..Despite all the cross – country shenanigans last night we’re very happy we made part of the journey when we did as we crawl with infinite slowness round a car – jammed Brighton, and then run into Eastbourne’s own traffic. As a result of the hold – ups the truck arrives fifteen minutes late for load – in, prompting the wags on the crew to ask me and Rodders if we’d gone via Dunstable again. Hilarious. The Congress Theatre is another big, wide bugger…stage left is so far away it has it’s own postcode but it’s a nice, flat push onto the stage, and everything rockets up. The projector images are HUUUUUUGE tonight as we can get them exactly where we want them, and it really looks impressive….yet another taste of what the future could hold. We’re ready for the band in good time today, which means they can grab some more much – needed rehearsal time for their German trip. They’re actually sounding a lot better already, and the medleys don’t have the same train – smash impact on your ears anymore as the band have cleverly managed to come up with transitions that smooth them out. Only the oddball waltz schmaltz of What’s New Pussycat sets the teeth on edge still, and Jamie, who has to sing it, still laughs at it almost every time he steps up to the microphone. Thankfully it’s only about ten seconds long. Don’t get me wrong….it’s nothing to do with the band, they play it fine….it’s just WEIRD, and trying to fit it into a convincing bass / drums / guitar format makes your brain hurt. We have this vision of some random German TV producer sitting in a little room with his Book of 1960’s Hits, picking out the maddest and going “ Ja, ZIS von vill REALLY screw up zose Englander schnitzels “. Back to the Congress Theatre and the lads are ready to wrap up the soundcheck, which means that as we’re at the seaside, it can only be time for fish and chips again…YAY ! Rather than getting something caught fresh today off the coast, though, the only place open nearby is the homogenised, franchised, sanitised Harry Ramsden’s. Now I can’t knock old Harry ( he’s dead anyway ) but I once went to his original place ( HA ! Place ! Fish shop ! Plaice !! Geddit ?? Sigh……) with an old girlfriend ( I mean it was a long time ago, not that she was old ) and the most wonderful cod, chips and mushy peas. The fact that I can remember the meal but not the name of the girlfriend says a lot about the quality of the food ( it also says a lot about me, I think, so let’s move on… ). Anyway, Harry Ramsden’s circa 2010 is absolutely fine if you’re A) Dying of starvation or B) Have run out of cardboard. The pre-packed meals are actually made in somewhere like Korea these days using Croatian cod and Czech chips, so that “ Genuine taste of Yorkshire “ is probably something they sprinkle on it from a can as it speeds down the assembly line. However, it fills a gap, and I’ve ALWAYS got a gap. But enough of this fishy tale…..back to the show. Once again it’s a decent house….nearly four hundred and fifty…..and you can forget all that bobbins about Eastbourne being God’s waiting room. This is a lively lot, and they’re anything but superannuated. Although we’re only one show from the end of this marathon, there’s no reflection of that in the band’s performance, and if anything they’ve been energised by last night’s show in Marlborough. We can’t really get away with reprising Spirit In The Sky here, though, so it’s the normal set, the only hiccup being the light failing in the Black Box Of Bafflement when Phil does the “ Hank “ gag, but that kind of stuff doesn’t scare us anymore….Rodders just picks him up with another light and off we go. We get the now almost mandatory standing ovation, and it’s back to the Big Sleep hotel for our Nearly – End – Of – Tour drink. Steve, Jamie and Chris’s wives are here too, so it’s a nice family vibe as we take over the lounge. We can’t really cane it tonight as we’ve got a show tomorrow, of course, but it’s just good to all be in the same room together for once and to share a beer and chew the fat. The main topic of conversation seems to be what traditional end-of-tour pranks we’re going to pull on the band on the last show tomorrow night, and one by one the lads slope ( a little nervously ! ) off to bed , leaving only Steve “ King Cognac “ Phypers to hold the fort. It would be VERY easy to just say “ Ah, sod it….there’s only one more show “ and REALLY tie one on tonight, because we’ve totally earned it., but there are too many pro’s about for that to happen. Mrs Phypers, the lovely Jill, shepherds her spouse up the apples and pears before things can get too messy, leaving just the crew to think of increasingly mental ideas for tomorrow night, including such flights of fancy as gorilla masks, Batman and Robin suits, and human heads in the Black Box, and we’re having, as the Irish would say, a mighty craic, until someone points out that it’s nearly three o’clock, and we really SHOULD be hitting the hay. It’s only at this point that these six intelligent men realise that they’ll all forgotten the clocks went forward at midnight….so it’s actually nearly FOUR o’clock. AAAGGHH !!!! Cue much scraping of furniture and toppling of chairs as we bail out with the speed of many antelope and head upstairs to grab some ( now foreshortened ) shuteye…..
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Marlborough Theatre On The Hill, Fri March 26th

We’re back down in Wiltshire today, just across the M4 from Swindon, in picturesque Marlborough. Tonight’s show is an unusual one in that it’s at a school; St John’s Community College, a brand spankers new hi – tech complex with it’s own theatre, the Theatre On The Hill. We’re VERY nervous about this one; we’ve not been able to get any of the technical information back about it and have no idea whatsoever what to expect. Our suspicions are confirmed when Arthur rings us as on the way down; they haven’t got the basic power we need to run the show and are having to hire in some cable and feed it in from a different part of the building. Not a good start. When we get there the place is amazing, and looks more like a university than a school. At first glance the theatre is a great little room, until we realise that, apart from the power, none of the lighting bars move, there are no lights actually above the stage, there aren’t any stagehands, the houselights are controlled by wall switches in the hall itself so you have to run down from stage to switch them on and off and we have to wheel everything through the cavernous reception area to reach the theatre. In front of the stage is a gap of about four metres before the seats start, so it’s like playing across a moat. In addition their drum and keyboard risers are made up of what seem like a load of coffee tables joined together, and they’re very big and very high. We have to take the decision to get rid of them totally, which raises the ire of a chap in a tie and ID badge who is something to do with Building Facilities. This jolly fellow had put the risers out earlier and isn’t best pleased about having to take them away again, which he lets us know about with much huffing and puffing. The rest of the people here are really nice, though, and Rob, the house tech is almost ridiculously helpful, plus we’re now used to dealing with curveballs. It’s still a slow, slow process, however…..the central projector can’t be hung on the normal bar as it’s just too close to the stage and effectively silhouettes Steve against the screen; as a result we have to hang it from a bar in the main hall which is so high I get a nosebleed when I try and go up the ladder. Mr Health & Safety would probably have a coronary if he could see Rob take the projector off me and shin up the longest ladder I’ve ever seen like a monkey on crystal meth. Rather him than me, say I….a person of my size is just not designed to be that far off the ground; I’m built for sitting on sofas with cups of tea and big bars of chocolate. The upshot of all this fannying about is that the lads don’t have much time to soundcheck, and they’re anxious to keep practising all the stuff for Germany, but it can’t be helped….the power issue takes ages to resolve as it turns out to be a can of not only worms, but snakes, beetles and nasty big spiders as well, but Rodders manages to resolve things with a combination of various leads, plugs, string, glue and spit. We also know the show hasn’t sold as well as the school had hoped; we’re only the second professional visiting company to visit and they haven’t got the profile in the area that they need yet. All of this means that we’re not sure how things are going to go tonight, but we’re just going to have to give it our best shot. The school are certainly making the effort; they’ve set up a little bar in the reception area and have got some of the older kids running the door and being ushers….now all we need is an audience ! As it turns out a decent number of folks arrive, and the thing that’s most apparent is how eager they all are to see the show as they come in…maybe this is going to be OK after all. Right at the beginning of this blogfest I talked about how the shows you look forward to often disappoint, while the ones you’re dreading turn out be to stonkers. Tonight is most definitely in the latter category. What these folks lack in numbers they make up for in enthusiasm, and we’ve got them dancing within a couple of numbers. By the time we get to the
“ party “ section there’s a pretty solid press of people in the “ moat “, and Den has the great idea of adding another song at the end; it’s the first time we’ve done it but this is definitely the kind of place where it’ll work. The song choice is a masterstroke; they go for Spirit In The Sky, and absolutely tear the roof off the place. I’ve heard them play this a few times before but tonight is just a killer, killer version; everyone on the place is going mental and the band are unstoppable; by the end the crowd are just greasy spots on the floor and even the crew are yelling for more ! We’ve probably never had as many people come up to us after the show and literally PLEAD for us to come back again….the other nice thing is that this is going to help the school get their events off the ground as the word will definitely go out that it’s a good place to come to. Their attitude is excellent, because they realise there are technical shortcomings here, and rather than hide behind them Kate and Rob literally come up to us with pen and paper in hand afterwards for our comments and suggestions as to how they can improve things here. THAT’S the sort of approach you need, and we’ll happily come back here again to play for these lovely people. As it’s a long haul to Eastbourne tomorrow we’ve decided that the crew will go part of the way tonight, and the chosen destination is Southampton. Rodders and I borrow Lid’s satnav but I can’t even get the bloody thing to switch on at first, and by the time I’ve worked it out, everyone’s left us behind, so we ease the truck out into the leafy lanes of Wiltshire and set off for Southampton airport, which was the nearest destination I could get the machine to accept. Now, I’m not really a fan of satnavs anyway, and my dislike it compounded as the infernal thing directs us along increasingly smaller and tighter lanes. Twenty minutes in to the journey and we are, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere, in pitch darkness. I try to call Lids and Pug to get them to look at the map for us, but we don’t have phone signal either. We’re on our own, and we’re well and truly snookered, so we just have to inch on through the night regardless. Suddenly Rodders says thoughtfully, “ Tone, I think we’re on Salibury Plain…..” “ Why do you think that ? “ I reply. “ Because we’ve just gone over a crossing for tanks “ he says. He’s right. We’re in Armoured Warfare Central, and it suddenly comes to me that the British Army fight most of their battles at night. It therefore follows that they must TRAIN at night, and so the next ten miles or so are spent on the edge of our seats, waiting for a twenty – ton Challenger tank to roar up and squish us, or else blow us off the road. Luckily we make the main road without mishap, and apart from a slight “ going the wrong way up the motorway “ hiccup, finally make the hotel at 2.00am. It’s been a bit of a stressful twenty – fours hours, and so I sleep like a baby ( in other words I cry all night and wet my pants…..)

Haverhill Arts Centre Thurs March 25th

Although we don’t get back from Crewe until silly o’clock this morning I’m wide awake at 7.00am with budgets, payments, invoices and bills all jostling for position in my ( totally knackered ) head. Each time I manage to knock one of them out, another creeps in through my lughole or somewhere and I’m off again. Unfortunately this has been my mental default setting for most of the tour and I have to say that it’s a smidgeon wearing, but the finishing line is in sight now, so I’ll just keep drinking my daily pint of absinthe and I’m sure I’ll be fine. We’re in the sleepy little town of Haverhill today, and thanks to an overestimation of how long it’d take to get here we have half an hour to grab some nosebag before load – in. Gay bars are a bit thin on the ground round these parts, so we make do with Gregg’s bakers, and I’m here to tell you that I thoroughly recommend their chilli beef lattice, Faithful Blogreader. Piquant, with just a subtle overtone of cumin and a dash of jalapeno, the pastry is light and flaky, and made to be savoured. I eat mine in one mouthful, but you get the picture.
We’ve sold out tonight, and discover when we arrive that they’ve also sold our “ company “ seats, the ones we use for our guests. Apparently a clause in their contract says that if they haven’t heard from us within a week of the show they can sell them, but I get a soupcon pissed off at this point by the intimation that I’m going to be able to recall every clause from forty – three contracts, most of which were signed about two months ago. Fortunately it doesn’t escalate into anything unpleasant as the house decide they can put our guests up in the balcony next to Arthur and Rodders. Sorted. It’s quite a small stage so we’re all a bit cosy, but this usually means we get a more powerful show. There’s still a lot of rehearsal going on today for this German TV show which has started to loom over the band like some huge, German looming thing, and the only good thing from our point of view is that we get to hear lots of snippets of new songs we’ve not heard the band play before. From THEIR point of view it’s a constant wrestling match, trying to force unsuitable songs together into medleys chosen by the TV folks, or working new starts and finishes into songs they’ve been playing a different way for years. Had this arisen at the start of the tour we’d have been Donald Ducked as they were still so focused on the show, and soundchecks were long, methodical affairs. These days the actual band soundcheck is knocked off in minutes to allow them the maximum rehearsal opportunity; they can literally do it in their sleep. The familiarity with the show reaches new heights for me tonight as well; I can’t find my set list so for the first time I do the whole thing from memory. Which accounts for all the mistakes.
We also have our first major potential gig-killing event….about six songs in, Steve looks up and over at us in alarm; the main bolt on his bass drum pedal has sheared right through, and there’s no spare. A drummer can no more play a show without a bass drum pedal than a guitarist could play a show without strings, so this is a terminal problem. Nick dives onstage and takes the pedal off to see if he can carry out some sort of repair, leaving Steve to try and soldier on. The lad’s a trouper, though….not only does he manage to get through two whole songs, he also plays his drum solo in Pretty Woman, and more to the point, does the whole thing pretty bloody well, and with a smile on his face. As with the soundchecks, this is something that might not have been possible when we started the tour, but Steve takes a cataclysmic kick in the cods like this totally in his stride now, and gets the applause he deserves at the end. A special mention must also be made of the tour’s real unsung hero, our very own Nick Liddard, father of Lids and general wonderbloke. Whereas I’d personally have reacted to the bass drum breakage by sitting in a corner and weeping hopelessly, he somehow finds a bolt and wingnut which will fit, and whips it into the pedal tout suite, literally saving the show. I make a mental note to buy him a Crunchie. Collapsing drum hardware apart, it’s actually a wicked show tonight…folks are up and dancing at the front of the stage , but there’s also one character in the crowd who used to come to Overtures gigs, jump up onstage and make an arse of himself; Nick keeps a close eye on him in case he repeats these antics but I take a slightly more draconian approach to security by firing off the flame projector pyrotechnic just as he looks as though he’s walking towards the steps at the side of the stage. Barnet suitably singed, he sits back down and we don’t hear another peep. We’re also graced by the presence of the three “ tired and emotional “ ladies from the Stevenage show, this time all wearing cute little matching pink and black quartered sleeveless minidresses. Alcohol may been involved again as one of them keels over while dancing and hits the floor like a sack of spuds, but apart from all the ribald heckling, knicker – flashing, general misbehaviour and falling over drunk they’re no bother. We also discover they were the source of the underwear thrown onto the stage at Stevenage as we see them hurl yet more scanties this time; there must have been some chilly buttocks on the way back to wherever they live…It’s Clive’s last show of the tour tonight, and that really brings home the fact that this is nearly all over, especially when he says his goodbyes to the band and I think “ That’ll be me in three days “. Dartford Orchard seems like it happened a lifetime ago, and yet at the same time the tour’s just flashed by….now how does THAT happen ? I’m musing on such metaphysical concepts as we leave the venue for the shortish drive home, only to be brought crashing back to reality by the incessant glowing of the “ Refuel Now “ light on my car dashboard. I check the onboard mission control computer to see the mileage left in the fuel tank, and it yields a big fat zero…Ah. “ No worries “ I think, “ We’ll fill up at that Sainsbury’s superstore on the way in. Not so bloody super, as it turns out, however…as with everything else in Haverhill it’s closed, and I mean CLOSED….we don’t see another car on the road or person on the street. It’s just like the film 28 Days Later. Only at night. And not in London. And without zombies. This could be a disaster. I phone the local police to ask if they know of a 24 hour garage in the area, and after a short delay of only about a year the nice lady on the phone finds one and “ talks me in “ to it. It’s closed. She then tells me the only other one is ten miles away and wishes me good luck. Thanks, Suffolk Constabulary. We’ve no option but to put up the sail, cross our fingers and do forty miles an hour. Amazingly we make it, but the Death Stares I get from Rodders and Pug who are in the car with me bore holes into my skull all the way home. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…….

Crewe Lyceum Wed March 24th

There’s a little bit of history about today’s show; Crewe Lyceum was where we did our very first” proper “ Bootleg Sixties show outside of Broxbourne. In those days we were just playing with the format and it was totally “ seat of the pants “ stuff….we had absolutely no idea if anyone was going to come and see us, or if they’d like it, and the whole thing was a total leap of faith. As it happens we did pretty well ( significantly better than the 40 people that a top Hendrix tribute act had drawn earlier than week, anyway ! ) and it confirmed to us that we had actually something that was worth developing. Two and a half years on and we’re coming back with a show that’s light years away from that slightly hesitant debut, and even the way the house crew react to us is different; they’ve heard of us now, so there’s an element of respect that might have been missing before. As it’s only an hour or so from Preston we get here a bit early today and so decide to grab some grub before the load-in, and we find a pub – cum- restaurant thing almost next door to the gig advertising a “ small breakfast” for just £ 2.00. Being a bunch of tightwads we reason that this is the perfect place, so in we troop. At first we don’t really notice the predominantly pink décor or the peacock hairstyle of the barman, but as we look around and speak to the staff it soon dawns on us that, yes, we’ve managed to wander into the only gay bar in Crewe. Not a problem in itself, but the food takes well over half an hour to arrive, by which time the truck has pulled up and the load – in has to start. When the house crew see where we’ve been it raises a few eyebrows and a couple of them even edge slightly away, so we start talking loudly in deep voices about beer, rugby and shagging , and soon all is well. This is a great little theatre but here’s a rake on the stage so steep it that makes you feel as if you’re walking up a bloody great hill, or if you’re going across the stage it’s like being on the deck of a ship, as you have to counter the slope with this kind of rolling gait ( or have one leg shortened, of course ). The other aspect of all this incline – related fun is that our equipment is going all Isaac Newton on our asses, and is desperately trying to give in to the pull of gravity and hurl itself off the stage into the orchestra pit. It all comes in to the building quite nicely, but within about ten minutes there’s a chuffin’ great Tetris of flight cases all jostling, lemming – like, for prime position at the lip of the stage. The house lads are used to it, of course, and sort things out by the simple expedient of screwing two large planks across the stage. Lo- tec it may be, but it saves our gear from committing collective suicide. We’ve arranged with the band that they can come in early today and use some soundcheck time to rehearse the German TV stuff. I must admit I thought that they were just doing a few numbers backing the guest stars and so on ( if you can “ just “ do such a thing on a programme that goes out to millions of viewers ), but it seems that our Teutonic brethren, hilarious funsters that they are, have thought it’d be a wizard wheeze to have the lads play a kind of musical chairs thing as part of what appears to a quiz; they’ll play a snippet of a song, the host will ask a searching question, like “ what’s the next word after this;” Strawberry Fields….??”, then the band will play the snippet with the answer. Genius ! Not only does it mean they have to learn almost an entire set of twenty – second versions of songs, but the show is also, of course, going to be in German, so they’re not going to have a Scooby – Doo what’s going on, and yet are expected to hit all these sharp cues. As Arthur’s going to be with them we look at the chances of him learning enough Deutsch by next Tuesday to be able to translate for them, but in the end we decide we’re going to ask for a bi-lingual (attitudes to that sort of thing are SO much more relaxed on the Continent, don’t you think ? ) and get them to do something technical like hoist a thumb aloft at the appropriate moment. It’s a load more work for them than I realised, and they’ve really only got the remaining tour soundchecks to knock this into shape as they’re off to Munich literally right after the tour. The last thing Jamie and Den need is to be caning their voices for another couple of hours each day, but needs must when the devil vomits into your kettle, as Edmund Blackadder used to say. On to the show, then, and we’ve doubled our attendance from last time, which again vindicates this whole shooting match. The lads are on good form tonight as well, and when Den spots a group of people in the royal box he gives a little bow and plays up to “ Her Maj “. These poor folks also get a shock when I fire off my pyrotechnics in Light My Fire; for a start they’re not expecting a jet of flame to shoot up from just underneath them and singe their eyebrows, but for some reason the detonator cap of this particular firework flies out of the firing tube and arcs beautifully right into their box, prompting much leaping up, stamping of feet and brushing down of clothes. We do like to involve our audience but perhaps we should stop short of trying to immolate them….We have a lovely surprise just as the second half goes up; a hand comes through the curtain behind me and hands me a large round box of Celebrations chocolates. Taped to the top is a little “ thankyou “ note from Geoff, Glyn and Sheila at Market Drayton Festival Centre. I open the box, and far from being anything as mundane as chocolates (which I’d still have gratefully scarfed anyway ) it turns out to be one of Sheila’s wonder cakes, a coffee and walnut confection of total beauty. As everyone else in the camp hears about this over the comms, Clive and I realise that we’re going to have to circle the wagons to prevent a flock of gannets descending on us. In the end our rearguard action is all for nothing….we manage to paff a slice each but then the container is kidnapped by the band as we’re doing the loadout. DENIED ! Despite this tragic loss, it’s been a great night, though, so we’re not TOO fazed about the fact that the M6 is closed when we leave Crewe and we have to divert via Aberdeen or somewhere equally bloody inconvenient….after all, sleep is for the weak, isn’t it….??

Preston Charter Theatre Tue March 23rd

It’s the long haul up to Preston today, and it’s not a happy camp as we set out. There have been some personal and professional problems which have arisen for some of the tour party over the last couple of days which have cast something of a shadow over things, and we also have some pretty unhappy memories of Preston; last time we were here a couple of years ago we found that, due to a booking error, we were doing the cavernous Guildhall, instead of the more intimate Charter Theatre next door where we’re playing tonight. We didn’t have a bad crowd considering, but they were lost in that huge room more suited to world snooker finals and the like. To add to the fun that day my car was broken into while it was in the loading bay and Arthur’s satnav was stolen., so I spent the afternoon the nice man from Autoglass having the window replaced ( I was picking glass shards out of my bum for about three weeks
afterwards ). Since then I’ve been back here with the Israeli dance show Aluminum, and that was a nightmare of a gig, so it’s with some trepidation that we pull up outside. The get-in’s no fun either, as everything has to go up in a small lift onto the first floor, but the house crew lads are friendly and welcoming and luckily it all goes pretty painlessly. We have a protracted visit from the gremlins today, though, and the little buggers seem to get everywhere. When Clive sparks up the main show laptop it becomes clear it’s got a virus, which is pretty weird as it’s never used for anything other than the show and doesn’t ever get connected to the net. We can only assume it was infected by a memory stick that was used to load on the “ local footage “ pictures in Dunstable, but however it happened Clive’s got to take it off downstairs where he can get wi – fi so he can try and clean it up. Jamie’s amp then starts picking up a bizarre regular beeping signal, and we go through the options to try and get rid of it, all to no avail. When Phil’s starts doing the same a while later we can only conclude that it’s an alien life form trying to contact us from a distant planet, but in the end it turns out to be the rather more prosaic signal sent out by the building’s fire alarm system which some electric guitars pick up. As they won’t switch off the fire alarm
( spoilsports ) we just have to get on with it. Steve then starts having a problem with his monitors, and we have to break soundcheck to try and sort this out, all of which eats further into the hour and a half or so we have to play with. The band are also trying to use this time to rehearse for the German TV show, so things get a bit tense as six thirty gets nearer. In the end Den realises that there’s not really the concentration that the process needs, so the band call it a day and we agree an earlier soundcheck start in Crewe tomorrow. By the time the audience start coming in we’ve just about got everything working and so our one remaining worry is Jamie’s voice. He says he feels OK but he developed a cold over the weekend and that’s a worry, He holds back in soundcheck but there’s a big burden on him in the show and it really is a case of just seeing what happens. We’re also a bit disappointed in the house; after we played here last time we made a really good impression and that’s why we’re back today, but it becomes clear that we’ve picked up almost exactly the same number of people this time round. This is only the second time on the tour where we haven’t significantly improved on numbers from a previous visit and it IS a pisser, especially as both have come at the end of long journeys, first to Llandudno and now here. The audience are a receptive lot, though, and of course the boys have learned the Weymouth Lesson now. They’re a bit cagey about Jamie’s voice, to be honest, but apart from a few rough-edged bits here and there he’s actually doing fine. I ask them at the interval if they think they’ll need to pull any of his songs from the second half and the reaction is “ No, we’ll be OK “, which is good news, and again I think back the early days of the tour and the panic we felt when Den’s voice was going. We were restructuring entire sets to cope with it then, but now it’s a total “ can do “ attitude….in fact I think Jamie was more upset about the fact that I hadn’t brought him an ice cream like the one I was eating when I walked into the dressing room ! Touring DEFINITELY changes everything……Into the second half and Jamie’s as good as his word, getting through some tough songs, but it’s still with a sense of relief that we bring the curtain down at the end. It’s been a hard day today. As we’ve already learned it’s not easy getting back into the swing when there’s been a little break, though I must say we’ve done pretty well today in the light of some tricky circumstances. There’s a nice family touch tonight too as Pug’s Gran has come to the show and has really enjoyed it….she gives her “ Snugglemuffin “ a hug and tells him she’s proud of him before brushing his hair , wiping a dirty mark off his face with her hankie and telling him to wash his hands before dinner. We’re staying with those wonderful Travelodge people again tonight and it becomes immediately clear that they work on different miles to the rest of us…the hotel is apparently 4.6 miles from Preston central. As we pass the eight mile mark we start to question the veracity of the Travelodge website, and when we see the herds of moose crossing the tundra we know they’ve definitely sold us a wrong ‘un. Eventually we find the hotel and to our relief English is still spoken here despite the remoteness of the location. It’s got everything we need….a bed, a shower and an ice cream machine in the foyer. SORTED !!!

Dunstable Grove Theatre Fri March 19th

A bit of a Twilight Zone moment happened this morning, and once again I’m attributing it to residual shaggedoutedness. As Transmedia has been based in Bedford for yonks, we’ve had occasion to come to Dunstable many times, so Doris’s guidance is deemed unnecessary today. Rodders and I duly clamber in the truck and headed off. To avoid the fun and games of the A421, which is being turned into dual carriageway and currently resembles the Somme just after a major bombardment, we head down the A6 and chuck a right just outside Luton. “ Dunstable five miles “, the sign tells us, so we wend our way through street after street. After street. After street. Another sign pops up, and this time we’re only two miles away. We then pick up the signs for Town Centre and dutifully follow them. I’m a smidge concerned by the fact that I don’t actually recognise anywhere, but figure it can be only a matter of time before I see a landmark. We carry on, and it’s though as I’ve been dropped into a town I’ve never seen before. “ This just can’t be right “ I tell Rodders as two miles slips by, then three. “ I’ve been here loads of times but I don’t know this place “. Suddenly we see another sign for the town centre and we reckon we’ve finally cracked it…..but when we get there the town centre turns out to be Luton. Somehow Dunstable has disappeared, although we went right through it, apparently, and now we don’t know where we are and we’re late. The hardest part is that I don’t seem to be able to get my brain to function properly; years and years of touring round the world has left me with a pretty well-developed sense of direction and I hardly ever get lost, especially around somewhere familiar…..but I haven’t a Scooby where we are and I’m actually starting to panic a bit. Luckily we DO finally hit a road I know and we quickly get to the show twenty minutes late. I’ll leave you to imagine the ribbing we got for getting lost on the way to a local show……Once we’re finally here we remember how much we love The Grove; you can actually bring the truck inside the building and drop your kit straight onto the stage, plus it’s got lighting bars for days, a fantastic in – house PA system and it’s big, wide and mucho posho. Despite our tardiness everything flies up quickly and we set the house crew the Crème Egg Challenge; if we can beat our record load – out time of fifty – four minutes then we’ll buy them a whole henload of Crème Eggs. We’ve only had a couple of places get anywhere near that time since the record was set, but they’re a game lot here so the bet is laid ( eggs, laid….geddit ? ). Soundcheck is a bit of a treat for the old rock dinosaurs among our number; Jamie has been delayed by traffic so the guys give us some classic rock stuff; Sunshine Of Your Love, Purple Haze, a stonking All Along The Watchtower, Born To Be Wild and….errr…The Archies’ Sugar Sugar. Fair gladdens yer heart !! Fast forward to seven thirty pm, and we’ve got yet another good crowd tonight, with a serious sprinkling of wild and wacky Sixties outfits. One chap is particularly vocal and when Den spots him in his “ Jimmy Saville “ clobber he gets the guy up to take a bow. This is DEFINITELY what we want much more of; some of these folks look absolutely brilliant and we need to be acknowledging it somehow. Some brainstorming called for, methinks. It really is a great audience tonight, just like Aldershot they’re loud and appreciative and totally behind us….in fact, it’s shaping up to be one of the best shows so far, and by the interval we think we’ve got it nailed. WRONNNGGGGG !!!!! Although things start well enough when the lights go back down, we’re on course for a serious kick in the cods. Just as the band go into the first number of the “ psychedelic section “, the click track “ in Steve’s headphones disappears, leaving him unable to hear the metronome that helps him keep everything together on these two songs. Whilst Pug and Tomps rapidly check connections and leads to try and find the fault, poor Steve has to play quieter and quieter in order to try and somehow pick up the click. This is a nightmare situation….you can’t just stop and start again as it’s all tied in to the visuals, so Steve has to simply fight his way through the two – song section. That he makes it to the end without everything falling apart says a lot about his ability, but it’s unnerved everyone and although the audience don’t seem to have noticed, the band are definitely shaken. Worse is to come, though. Without warning, as Jamie gets about three quarters of the way through Handbags & Gladrags his voice suddenly goes. There’d been no wobble…it just happened. He’s a pro, of course, and instead of panicking he dropped the pitch of the last chorus of the song and made it to the end. We’ve still got Pinball Wizard, He Ain’t Heavy and Mony Mony to go, all of which feature him heavily, and the tension in the crew is almost palpable. I’m not sure what Jamie does offstage during the VT insert before Pinball but it must involve gargling with some kind of magic potion, because he manages to make a decent fist of the song and gets most of the harmonies on He Ain’t Heavy, but by Mony Mony he’s struggling again, and Den steps into the breach. Luckily the last two songs are both Den’s lead vocal, and finally we’ve made it. Judging by the crowd’s response they’re not in the slightest bit aware of what’s been going on, and despite everything that’s happened we’ve done it yet again. They’re standing up, shouting, clapping, yelling for more, and it’s totally, totally brilliant. Afterwards I ask Jamie how he’s feeling, and he’s totally puzzled about what happened. He says he feels fine and doesn’t have a sore throat, but that the upper register just wasn’t there when he went for it. The only consolation is that we’ve got a couple of days break now, and past that the end of the tour is just over a week away. It would be tragic to cut everything short after going through so much and coming so far with everything, but all we can do now is dose the lad with jollop, put him in solitary and cross our fingers……….

Aldershot Princes Hall, Thurs March 18th

Before we get into today’s jollities, I need to mention a surreal event from a couple of shows ago that I’d forgotten to share with you. We were at the crucial point right at the start…the lights had gone down, the intro insert was playing and we were all set to go. Suddenly Tomp’s urgent voice came over my headphones….” Tony, the nu – nu’s not in it’s box ! “ Now, I’ve heard some odd things in my time in this game, but that one takes the mottled oyster. Initially I thought the boy had totally taken leave of his senses, but then I followed his pointing finger and realised that he meant the vacuum cleaner hose from the smoke machine hadn’t been connected to the Black Box Of Bafflement. Where nu – nu came into the equation was still a mystery, but I’ve since been reliably informed that Nu-Nu is the name of the little hoover that incessantly cleans the Teletubbies’ house, and this, ladies and gentlemen, is the legacy of too many hours spent in front of Children’s BBC. Be warned….it can make you talk absolute bobbins. But enough weirdness….today we’re off to Aldershot to do a show for band friend and all – round diamond geezer John Martin. We played here for John a year or so back and it was great, and we hear that tonight’s done about five hundred tickets already, which is fantastic. We knew that we’d be going through a whole mess of roadworks and so set off early, and as always happens in these situations we sail right through and get to the gig an hour early. Luckily the house crew lads are also there ahead of time, so we get stuck in and start unloading. Another slightly surreal thing interrupts the process. After the Boston show we were given a “comedy stool” by Kip, the house tech, and have been using this three-legged milking – stool jobbie in the acoustic section ever since. However, it’s not the sturdiest piece of furniture that’s ever been made, and after a few weeks of going in and out of the truck and being flung across the stage by Steve it’s actually in three pieces, so we consign it to one of the venue’s rubbish bins. Then out of the blue in mid – load we get an agitated call from Arthur. He’s had Kip on the phone and apparently it turns out that this manky little chair is some kind of family heirloom which should never have been given to us in the first place. Kip’s been frantically trying to track us down to see if we still have it and is hugely relieved when it turns out we do. So important is this thing that he’s driving to Haverhill from Boston next week to collect it from us ! We tactfully fail to mention it’s somewhat fragmented state, and make a mental note to buy a tube of No More Nails tomorrow. You really DO have to see this battered, oft – repaired bit of timber to appreciate the full oddness of the request, but as they say, there’s nowt as queer as folk….But enough of this weirdness. The Princes Hall in Aldershot is a nice little theatre of about six hundred seats, perfect for us and this tour, and apart from the faff of having to get everything up to the stage level in a goods lift it’s well – appointed and cosy. We get the soundcheck out of the way quickly today as the band are having to do some more rehearsing for the German TV show; this time they’ve been asked to wrangle together a couple of medleys from a somewhat odd choice of numbers supplied by the programme’s producers, who clearly have a musical ear that’s on a par with their nation’s reputation for humour and knockabout comedy. There are wild tempo and key changes involved, and trying to get this into some kind of flowing order is like herding cats at first, but by the end of a brainstorming session the lads have come up with a structure that doesn’t sound like the fevered noodlings of some schizo nutjob. They’re getting decent pay for this TV thing but, by Satan’s trousers, they’re having to work for it. A near sold – out gig’s going to be a breeze after this, and so it proves….in fact I’d go so far as to say this is one of the top two or three shows on the tour, and easily the best received by a very vocal and partisan crowd. It looks great tonight, too…for once there’s no air conditioning to suck the haze away from Rodder’s machines, so it hangs on the stage and picks out all the sharp beams and hot colours of the lights. It looks….ROCK !! Each song is greeted not just with applause but with a proper, roaring cheer, and the strongest impression is that these good people are definitely here to see THIS band and THIS show because they’re fans, and not just because they might have read about it or seen it on a website somewhere. The band respond magnificently, and not even the honksome act of a poorly punter projectile vomiting over three rows of seats at the interval can take the gloss off tonight. The place is duly washed, mopped, disinfected and fumigated and the hapless recipients of the technicolour yawn taken to the sheep – dip, but despite the lingering odour ( so reminiscent of school corridors, for some unearthly reason ) we’re not to be denied, and somewhere into the early part of the second set the whole thing just takes flight. Steve’s playing as if his life depends on it ( at the end of the set I’ll notice that he’s been hammering the bass drum so hard that his entire drumkit AND the carpet it sits on have been pushed forward nearly a foot, and are right on the verge of toppling off the riser ) while Jamie and Den are in great voice. At stage right Phil throws shapes and reels off lines of sparkling guitar, and at the back Chris is in perpetual motion, one moment pounding his keys, the next doing serious damage to tambourines and other bits of his percussion gear, grinning widely all the while. This is more like a homecoming gig by conquering heroes than a random Thursday night in Aldershot, and it’s bloody brilliant. As the band head off afterwards to meet the fans we start the laborious de-rig process, but tonight we’re buoyed up by knowing that we’ve been part of something special, and even the fact that it’s drizzling when we get the gear outside doesn’t dampen our spirits. It’s obviously the second night of the Roadworks Jubilee and this time the celebration of these yellow – clad, nocturnal denizens of the dark extends up the M1 and closes the A421 totally, but somehow the flashing lights and jaunty apparel seem in keeping with the celebratory mood and for once we refrain from trying to run them over and screaming for the head of the Minister Of Transport to be displayed atop a traffic cone. Even Arthur’s van ( which is well into the overdraft facility of it’s borrowed time on this earth and had steadfastly refused to start for him tonight ) yielded to my inexpert ministrations and fired up first time after the Laying On Of Hands And General Wiggling Things About Under The Bonnet. Tomorrow’s another day and all that gubbins, but tonight belongs to us, and we can do no wrong. Are you listening, Rock Gods ??? I SAID “ WE CAN DO NO WRONG !!!! “