Pic

Hmmm, after a bracing stroll in the park, time to stare into the icy sky and dream of sun days.

Where did I get that hat?

death

We usually slept at the promoter's house but this day he had family with him so there was no room. But don't worry, he said Mary, the door girl has said you can stay at her flat if you don't mind floor and sofas. Seemed okay! He said her friend would also be staying, because Mary was a bit nervous. Fair enough! This week had been the first time she'd really been out in a year, she'd been very depressed since her boyfriend had died. Oh!
Anyway, her friend seemed nice, chatty and fun, and after the gig we had drinks and a laugh in the other bar, although Mary kept just talking to the promoter. Finally, in the early hours we drove round to the flat; it was a little bit run-down and bare but we were grateful of a roof over our heads. She led us to the kitchen and told us to help ourselves to coffee; it was then that we all noticed, carved quite deeply into the kitchen door ' I LOVE TONY R.I.P.' We all looked round at each other with varying degrees of bemused panic, but said nothing. We made coffee and went back to the living room, where she had lit about 30 candles, and was playing some awful goth music. For the next hour (or so it felt) we sat in almost silence as she told us about how her boyfriend had been decapitated in a motorcycle accident, what the funeral was like, and how she would never love again! Then she and her friend left us and went to bed. None of us really felt like sleeping after that, so the drummer tried to lighten the mood by doing Billy Connolly impressions as we carried on chain smoking.

bloody kids

It was the second or third time we’d played The Nags in Corby. It was packed, and apart from a couple of ice cubes that landed on stage during the first song, the gig had been really good. The promoter was away and we had no offers of a place to stay so the drummer left soon after we’d finished and the guitarist and I were just having a pint while deciding whether to stay the night in the back of the van or make our way back on the M1.

“Alright guys? You were fucking brilliant, best fucking band I’ve seen down here for fucking ages. Fucking great sound for a fucking three piece; fucking amazing!”

The young guy in front of us had blood coming from his mouth, and a big, round, red, bloody patch in the middle of his white t-shirt. The gap in the top front of his teeth seemed fresh!

“ Er, thanks.” I said. “ Are you okay?”

“ What do you mean man?” he looked accusingly at me.

I pointed to the stain.

“Oh no, s’nothing. Saturday night innit? That’s what always happens round here.”

We decided to drive home.

words more words

Luna

I can't sleep

This night is

Killing me

I'm staring

Helplessly

Inside

Silent screams

Destroy my

Will to dream

Instead I

Walk the streets

Till light

Midnight skies

Surround my haunted mind

Till I'm calm feeling safe in the dark

Every star

Dissolves into a dream

And the girl

In the moon

Says goodnight

Love & death

Are out to

Get me yet

I've played

Hard to get

Until now

All my fears

Are dancing

Ever near

Now I

Can't lie here

Alone

Broken spells

That left me close to Hell

Now repair as I stare up above

Close my eyes

& colours flow through time

And the girl

In the moon

Says goodnight

Fly me to her

Cambridge.

There was only one dressing room, and we weren’t allowed to use it.

As soon as we’d finished our soundcheck we’d gone to get changed/chill/tune up, etcetera, whatever, forever. Up the stairs to the room we’d been directed to, the door was closed, so being a polite young support band we knocked.

“You the support?”
“Yeah”
“No room in here, you’ll have to find somewhere else.”

The wordy one closed the door slowly, and we waited for something to happen, but there was just the sound of laughter from inside that room. We changed quickly on the stone steps, tuned up and went to the bar. Our manager (Her Majesty) had turned up and was sitting near the entrance with a large gin & tonic and a pile of band leaflets for our ‘soon-to-be’ fans to fill out. Lager, lager and another, share the cigs, joke, complain, and try to forget why we’re here.

The place got packed very quickly, the main band obviously deserved sole use of the dressing room; packed and then some, Her Majesty was soon surrounded by hip young things, she kept pointing over toward us and their faces turned, they smiled, they waved, one girl bought us a drink, while her boyfriend asked us our influences.

“Beatles, Jam, Stone Roses.”
“Hendrix, Led Zep, Nirvana.”
“Whitesnake.”
Joke.

“On stage in five minutes boys.”

The sound engineer was okay, in that sloppy, scruffy, engineer kind of way, loved and scorned the world over. Five minutes always takes less time just before you hit the stage, no sooner have you lit the pre set fag, you’re being pushed out.

Good crowd, nods turned to jerks and foot movement; cheers followed each song, each cheer louder than the last. Thirty-five minutes later we’re back on the cold stone steps, hot, wet and high. Smiles. The upstairs door opens and out slides one of the young God-likes.

“Good set guys.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”

He drifts past.

“Good of him.”
“You think he watched us?”
“No.”
“Cunt.”

We watched them, they were good, brash, glitzy, and they had some fine songs. Her Majesty was extremely popular with her leaflets and chat. She didn’t buy a drink all night, and she was in staggering mode by the final whistle.

Same.

more words

Strike up the band
Hang out the flags
We've got lots to celebrate

Happy and calm
We'll never come to harm
Coz in our innocence we're safe

Here in our small town parade

Pictures

The End of The Pier
(Brighton)