Goodbye my Friend. Until we meet again. Part 1

poroporoaki toku hoa. Tae noa ki te whakatau ia ano tatou.

So this is how it goes.
I finish work December 15th. Sorted the bus out then head home.
Spend a few days thrashing about on my bike, getting cold but nothing too bad.
Have a mad panic getting my folks a present, as my Sister e-mailed me Dec 21st saying she hadn’t got anything (we’d arranged that she would).
I really am no good at shopping for anybody but myself.
And the rest of the time I spent drunk. Well “IT’S CHRISTMAS” as Nod says.
A good couple of gigs up the Oxleathers club, a couple of pub crawls all good fun.

Christmas done. Right it’s time to finish the job and finally put my best mate Simon to rest.
1/2 of him and his dog are at the pub we spent most of our time in.
And the last time I remember him being really happy, was when he was telling me of how he loved it in New Zealand. He wanted to go back but sadly his illness prevented that.
And when I said what I’d like to do with his ashes to the family they loved the idea. And they agreed to finance the trip, for which I’m eternally grateful.
It was a year and a day since his death that I buried his ashes at the pub in torrential rain. Maybe the fucker didn’t want to leave my wardrobe where he’s been residing since his demise. I wouldn’t put it past the twat to have been pissing on me that day.
Also it’s this wee journey that’s got me writing this.
Well that lack of sleep and a lot of cider & wine. Coupled to the fact it’s 06:30 and I’m jet lagged to buggery In the airport bar in Auckland.
So I decide to fly out Dec 30th. Which meant I’d be in the air between India and Australia for New Years Eve, not bothered about that. I don’t care too much for forced happiness. I really don’t like Christmas and NYE. That’s not to say I’m a miserable bastard.
I just prefer celebrations when they take you by surprise. Which means it’s usually a normal day, you get on it, and the day just goes right.
No planning, no expectations. Like being refused service in Wetherspoons at 3pm for being too drunk. Then carrying on drinking until about 8pm.
Waking up in the morning wondering why you’ve got a 4 pint beer glass, a box collection of Clint Eastwood Western films. And a pair of Union Jack trainers. And a vague recollection of a lot of pissed up rugby fans hounding you and Spence out of The Horse And Jockey for putting Slayer on the juke box.
Anyhoo I digress.
I decide to go to NZ. And OZ seeing as it’s not that far away.
I call Jackie in NZ and Nico in OZ sort out a rough itinerary and start booking.
Jackie’s got a gig she’s promoting in Rotorua, Fat Freddy’s Drop.
A band I’ve driven a few times, and I did say to them in October that I’d probably see them when they played the gig. (I don’t think they believed me).
So I find flights on Emirates (great airline). Book an internal flight to Rotorua all the times were perfect the closest connection was 3 hours. I know the airports I’d be stopping in so I know how long gate to gate, piece of piss oh yeah.
Tuesday Dec 30 My flights at 13:21. Train at 10:00. No worries get up at 8 to pack, quick breakfast and head clipper. Ready for a stress less day.
Miss the 10:00 train get the 10:30 which gets me to the airport at 11:15.
Strait through already checked in, Soooo smooth.
“You are aware of the delay aren’t you Sir”
“Errrrrr no”
“Ah, the inbound flight has been diverted to Vienna a medical emergency”
“How long’s the delay?”
“we’re not sure”
“Will I make my connecting flights?”
“You’ll have to check with the ground staff when you land”
Onward to Dubai we land 2&1/2 hours behind schedule.
All passengers with a connection to Melbourne go to the help desk.
Uh oh! That’s not what I want to hear.
Of course I miss my connection now this is where the fun starts.
My original plan was to get to Rotorua 5pm on the 1st. Have a few bevvies chill out with a few of he bands, all would be cool.
“We’ve got you on a connecting flight that will get you into Auckland at 00:20 Jan 2nd.
And you’ve got a 10 hour lay over here in Dubai, 8 in Singapore, 8 in Melbourne.”
So back to the wee girl in Dubai. “Here’s your itinerary, your bags are tagged all the way to Auckland. Errr can you wait here for a while, can I have your boarding card from your flight you’ve just come off. And your baggage tag.
Now I’m not sure. What a code 404 is but I didn’t Iike the sound of it, when it concerned me. And my baggage. Because in my checked bag was not only my biking gear. But the remains of Simon.
After a lot of talking on the phone. I was given another itinerary and reassured yet again my bags would be in Auckland when I landed.
Excellent. I’d better find a bar then. A few pre flight shandys then off to Singapore.
And then to Singapore where to my dismay, only the Heineken bar was open, ah well when in Rome. “Keep em coming mate!” I spank the old plastic, no idea how much a pint is here but, it ain’t going to be a couple of quid. As I was now going to miss my connection to Rotorua I needed a plan B. I enquire at the Emirates desk about my connection from Auckland to Rotorua?”
“I’m sorry Sir that’s a different carrier, you’ll have to take it up with them!”
As it happens Air New Zealand couldn’t have been more helpful. Just cost £40 to change my ticket.
And Christ knows how much in shitty Heineken to steady my nerves.
And so onto Melbourne. “Would passengers with connecting flights collect their bags from the carrousel.”
Here we go again. I enquire about my bag as it was on an earlier flight. “As it was tagged to Auckland it shouldn’t be here mate, but I wouldn’t trust that. I’d check the carrousel if I were you”
Says the cheery security guard.
I go back to the carrousel, all the bags come off the flight, no sign of mine.
Right I’m knackered I go out of the airport and get a hotel room. I can squeeze in about 4 hours of sleep here.
Go back to the terminal for the next leg. I enquire about my bag, it’s going strait through to Auckland.
You are now on a Quantas flight to Auckland I’m informed. Cool I don’t mind though now I’ve got an 8 hour lay over in Auckland airport before my flight to Rotorua.
Land in Auckland waited at baggage reclaim, and waited, and waited. Went to the baggage help desk.
“Ah Mr Ellett we’ve just got this message your bag has just landed in Melbourne.” I check the time, it’s exactly 24 hours late getting into Melbourne according to my original itinerary.
“It should’ve come here”
“Yes sir I can see that, don’t worry we’ll deliver it to any address you’re staying at in Auckland”
“I’m not staying in Auckland, I’m going to Rotorua”
“And I don’t have an address”
“AHHHH! Could you contact the misplaced baggage handlers and sort it out with them?”
“Yes no problem”
“May I enquire what you bag contains? Just for the customs declaration”
New Zealand has a very strict code of what can and cannot be bought into the country due to its fragile ecosystem.
My turn to go “Ah”
“Well there’s my clothes, motorcycle gear including helmet, and 1/2 of my best friends ashes.”
“Ah, Erm I see, no that shouldn’t be a problem. Erm 1/2?”
“Yes the other 1/2 are at the pub we spent most of our time in, in the UK!”
“That’s OK sir, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Apart from the fact that I was wearing the spare clothes I had carried with me. And the few toiletries, I’d got was not enough to last me than 3 days.
Still onwards and downwards eh!
As a ps I’m in Brisbane airport writing this. My deodorant ran out this morning running on eau de toilet.
Not that I’m that bothered on who I upset with my stench. It’s not like I’ll see them again. And crying fuckin’ kids are more offensive than any kind of body odour. And so far every fucking flight has been punctuated by somebody’s little Princess or Prince screaming. Fuck the little cunts they should be in the cargo hold Such is life.

Bam Margera, bands, blog, Brandon Novak, music, on the road, rock n roll, Steve danger, Tour bus, Tour bus life, Uncategorized


Bam, bam——Bam, bam, bam.

Tim how do I get from Earls court to my car. I thought I was getting dropped off at the yard,I really need to go home and sort out stuff that’s already 2 months overdue.
Good point, well presented was the reply.
In the end it was train to Southampton then a lift to my car. Which I dived into and took off for the Midlands like a rocket.
I’ve got 1 night at home which is a 3 hour ride away.
Spend my day off rushing about sorting legal shit out. Oh the glamour!!
Back to Romsey and pick the bus and trailer up. Off to Frankfurt, spend the night in the services just outside then pick the band up at the airport the following day easy.
I took over the driving just by the M3 then off to the ferry.
All’s good fly through France then Belgium pick up ciggies and baccy. Nice drive through Germany
“Hey Steve what time you going to be at the hotel?” Glenn the TM
Once I’ve parked up and had 11 hours break.
“Errr we need picking up bro! We’ve only got 1 room booked and a load of gear in the lobby.”
“Errrrrr I’m not picking you up until tomorrow, oh I get it damn yeah I can just about make it to the hotel in my hours, we got parking and power there?”
“We can sort of park in the bus bay, there’s no power though”
“Sort of?”
“Yeahhh when you get here you’d better take a look”
Day 1 here we go.
I get close to the hotel there’s signposts to and now they’re gone. Up this road errrr nope, swing round hotel is right by the side of me and now it’s behind me. This is fuckin’ stupid. It’s a massive hotel and there’s no signposts to the entrance.
“Hi Steve are you anywhere near?”
“Dude I’m on my 3rd pass and I can’t find the fuckin road to the hotel!”
“I’ve got the promoter here he can guide you in.”
Actually he couldn’t I tried all the roads leading to the hotel. In the end I went up a ramp that said no buses and through a no entry to find the fuckin’ place.
“I don’t think we can stop in that bus bay, the businesses will be pissed off if you park there for 11 hours.”
Off to the service station it is then. Grab some food then off to bed.
Roll out in the morning off to the show I’m tired so I didn’t watch the show. The guys are back on at 1.30 then off and on and off and on. They introduce themselves and spot the camera in the windscreen of the bus.
Bam and Alex aka Rubbish heap walk round the front of the bus, start arguing. Rubbish smashes a bottle which they then roll over fighting. Bam gets back on the bus arm bleeding profusely with a big chunk of glass sticking out of it. This wound got worse throughout the tour and only started healing with a good scar in the last 3 days.
The cops turn up wondering what the fuss is. Then leave after having their photos taken with Bam. Got some footage with the crew dancing along with the Algerians who were celebrating a win in the football.
Nikki Bams wife is standing on the roof of a car baring her arse to all and sundry.
The Algerian wide boys seemed very pleased at this. And to be fair it’s definitely not the worst arse I’ve seen.
Everybody’s in the road celebrating. Every car was stopped and made to sound it’s horn whilst surrounded by Algerian fans.
We roll out about 2 Resplendent with football fans hanging off my trailer. They’ve bent my mudguard the fuckers.
Get to the festival site at about 3:30.
5:30 Novak and Rubbish are on the hunt for booze and class A’s. And this sets the theme for the rest of the tour.
Novak comes wibbling back to the bus swigging from a wine bottle he’d robbed from backstage.
“See the guy in the baseball hat?”
“We just tried to score coke off him!”
“He wasn’t too happy, he’s the promoter of the festival”
“Well I suppose there’s nothing like advance warning the promoter what chaos is about to happen on his site, what did he say?”
“He said no the fuckin’ Pussy. So I stole this wine. From backstage!”
(There is a lot of this sort of behaviour on the tour. It is highly amusing)

Watched the show today. The sight of Novak crowd surfing wearing nothing but a pair of women’s fishnet tights and his hat holding his ever present bottle of wine up so he didn’t spill it, will forever haunt me.
Good show the crowd seemed to enjoy it immensely, I met a few people I knew and a reoccurring meeting with Benji from Skindred.
Islington academy. Oh boy what a cock ache this place is. They give you the bare minimum time they can for parking.
The band were really good didn’t smoke in the venue, finish the show, go outside for a fag, security start hassling them to move out of the loading dock. Then 2 guys started getting rough much to everybody’s amusement. Novak started to get riled.
Now he is a streak off piss, but he hit Murray over the head with a wine bottle and he’s his friend.
So he’s not adverse to using a bit of violence to get his point across.
He was heading towards the two security guards bottle in hand when Glenn the TM headed him off at the pass. Then Bam comes off the bus all guns blazing.
“This is outside, why the fuck are you being stupid about this. Here is outside, and there is outside. What’s the fucking difference?”
He gets bored of arguing grabs the band and crew and they head off to a bar.
Security knock me up out of bed saying its 1am I must leave.
“Sorry mate they’re not on the bus, I can’t go anywhere yet!”
“What? You must leave now, you. Are only supposed to be here until 1. There are deliverys coming in.”
“Mate I can’t leave until my passengers are on!”
He wondered off not very happy
As it happens at 2:30 when I did leave. There hadn’t been any deliveries so I hadn’t caused any inconvenience.

Sonisphere we drive through to the backstage where we’re met by a chap,who,was supposed to park us up.
Festival guy “How can I help, you?”
Me “We need drugs!”
“Drugs man we need drugs!”
“Errrr! That’s more a question for artist liaison, can you park by that generator please”
This has got to be my favourite response to a question that will be asked many times before this tour is played out.

Fuckin’ 16 amp only, It’s red hot. Everybody’s going to slow cook in their bunks at this rate. So I pinch a 32 from the headline acts.
Fuckin festivals. The bus is like a solar fuckin oven without AC. The band can’t get their dressing room until a couple of hours before they’re on. And have to be out a couple after they come off, in the meantime they need the bus.
And that’s where cunty bollox here has to sleep as well. I love waking up in a pool of my own body fluids. Just as well as it’s a regular occurrence.


bands, blog, music, on the road, rock n roll, Steve danger, The Kooks, Tour bus, Tour bus life, Uncategorized



Coo kooks ca choo

“How you with a 14 Meter?” Asks Tim
“Driven a couple”
“Good get to Phoenix. Pick up 54, up to Liverpool, pick the band up to Glasgow. You’ll need to get up there a day early to get an 11 hour break in.”
“Aye OK”
As I live in Stafford, that’s quite near Liverpool I opted for a night in my own bed.
Of course it’s a bank holiday weekend that I’m working over as standard.
Pick the bus up, not driven one of these before, it’s ace drives itself virtually. And for such so long motor it goes round tight corners great. Better than the shorter buses and that doesn’t make sense.
So off up to Sunny Stafford. Dick about with the sound system. DAB Teamrock it is woo hoo!!
It’s the simple things in life that make all the difference.
Park outside the gym and home for curry n wine, Fannytastic.
Day off means make the beds. Realise Lloyd who drove the bus last had cleared just about everything.hing out of it. Ahhhh! Bollox so I called him up.
“Hello bonnie lad how you doing” (he’s a Geordie)
“Good mate, I’ve got your old bus and can’t find ‘I reel off a list of things’
“Oh I didn’t realise you were taking it over, I’d’ve left more stuff on it for you!”
“Ah it’s OK I’ll buy what I need, just checking you’ve not got stuff hidden?”
“Well there is this panel I had put in, and this is stored there and here’s a handy hidey hole where you’ll find……….”
Cooel. Got my stuff did and then headed off to the Pool to pick up the guys.
The hotel they were in is opposite the Philharmonic theatre.
There’s no where to park and the Philly has a show on and the street is cordoned off. The Redburn driver comes over to me and we know each other so I ask if I can park in front of him. I’m leaving way before he does.
“Yeah mate if you can get down the road?”
“No worries can you just watch my arse as I back in”
Ooh fuckin err Matron
Get parked up the TM co
Media over to say hello.
“The guys are in town getting food, then going to a bar to watch the match,”
“No problem mate I’m parked and happy.”
The guys all pile back on the bus for an 11PM leave. I suggest we hang about for a bit, the Philly has just tipped out, there’s old folk everywhere and taxis driving about in typical taxi style.
Eventually we set off for sunny Glasgow.
Get to the ABC our truck is in the bay in front of where I need to park. I slide into the parking bay to much honking from indignant taxi drivers, flashing their light sang getting rather cross. Not that I care much. You do have to park in what they’ve claimed to be their pick up spot.
The trickiest come down and introduce themselves I ask them if they can park in front of me in the same bay. If you don’t someone will park a car there and I won’t be able to get out.
After some shenanigans involving irate taxi drivers, Some busy body pretend copper, 2 cars full of real coppers and a couple of drunken girls. I thought the boys were doing it for my entertainment as it did keep me entertained for an hour, wondering what the fuck was going on. I drew my curtains and went to sleep.
“Ahm on mah way!”
Said Brad I was meeting him fer a swallee and some food.
Off to sleazys for a Strongbow then down the road to spoons for another and some food. Had a good afternoon just talking shite, then back to bed.
Woke up a quick spruce of the bus and back to bed.
Up again when everyone started piling onto the bus.
“We’ll leave midnight if that’s OK with you?” Said Simon the TM.
I pop over to Subway across the road for a journey sandwich. Then at midnight we’re away back off down to Manchester.
YAYYYYYYY!!! Ritzys Manchestooooooooor. I Messaged Sarah Newton from SJM to see if she was in Manc and fancied a curry in East z East.
“I’ll see you about 12:30 we’ll have to go somewhere else both East z East are closed now until 5pm. Booooooo!!!
We went to Akbars I think. Which was pretty good to be honest.
Walked into the venue and all the old Academy crew were working there. Was good to catch up with those guys. I watched some of the show then went back to bed.
When I woke up I got a coffee and frozen yoghurt, with a mix of froot loops and crystallised ginger topping.
Sunny London tomorrow.
Electric Ballroom the gig of many a parking ticket.
With added roadworks that have taken up 1/2 the road fuckin brilliant.
I’ve got to park outside of the venue to get power, so i evaluated the situation.
By that I mean I pulled up got out used all my skills and realised thee was no way the busy Cuntish town bus route would be free if I stayed where I was.. I’ll plonk it on the footpath. The path at this point is quite wide so there’s no restricting people getting past.
Park up and sleep. The truck pulls up I suggest they load through the alley as I can’t move, and the truck would be stopping all the traffic if it parked behind me anyway. Due to the fact there’s a bus stop and a lamp post in the way.
Truckie went around the block a couple of times before doing what I suggested.
Graham Lambert from SJM was our promoters rep on the tour. He’s the guitarist in Inspiral carpets. We’ve done a fair bit of work together and I spent a large part of the afternoon talking about bands and general music shit.
Funny how it seems all bands suffer with the same personnel hassles.
Morat was over from LA with his lovely wife Mitzumi. And had put out on face book he was in the Crowbar for drinks. I went over to see him I’ve not seen him for about 20 years was great, he’s going to meet Me n Nico when we get to LA at the end of our road trip which is cool.
He’d got copies of his book The Road To Ferro City.
I’d read a bit of it on my Kindle and said I recognised a few of the descriptions from the Isle Of Man. From when we were over there for the TT.
I spent a couple of hours with him, Mazuimi and the Exploited’s, singers brother.
Of course I had the obligatory Camden parking ticket when I got back CUNTS!!
We’ve got the delights of sunny Birmingham tomorrow and the Institute. I like it there I like the pub next door the Big Bull.
My boss Tim was out driving a band who were in the small room he said he’d meet me there for food and a wee swallee.
The truck driver was already parked when I got there. I could head some hard house music blaring from his truck and his disco lights were flashing away in his windscreen.
He watched me back in as there’s a couple of real nastily positioned flood lights that would take your windows out if you weren’t careful. They light the yard up great but unfortunately blind you when you’re manoeuvring.
And so to bed.
When I wake up Tim is parked over the road with his bus and trailer. I go over and suggest the Big bull for a Guinness. We spend a few hours in there being entertained by the local piss head, the truckie joins us as well. I tell Tim the pub can get a bit rowdy and the characters are interesting.
I was telling the
Simon the TM that at least now it didn’t matter what accent you had to drink in there.
He mistook this remark for racism which it took me a while to get what he’d said as I was concentrating on getting out of the road which I was going out of the wrong way. It is a one way street.
I explained that in the 70’s early 80’s you didn’t go into a few boozers in Digbeth unless you had an Irish accent, unless you wanted to leave via the exit window. There still is a very strong Irish presence in the area, and since Red Stripe is now brewed in Burton and not imported from Jamaica, and I drink more of the stout I tend to feel safe drinking there, knowing I’m an bald Irish Rastafarian Scouser from the Black Country near Glasgow.
And with that it’s back to London for the drop off.
I’d missed the NABD Bike rally which I’d bought a ticket. Alison who keeps my bike in her garage went in my place. She said it was good but her garage stank of petrol and there was a pool of it under my bike again.
Fuckin Shit. It’s booked into the Garage on Wednesday then I’m off to get the bus again Thursday.




“Dance for me midget!”




And onto French France and Lille Le Splendid.
Last time I was here I was that drunk on the day off I couldn’t remember where I had parked. Even though I’d taken a picture of the bus outside the venue, so I could just show the taxi driver. To be fair last time I’d just driven 9 hours. Scott Bradley was hanging out of his hotel window and my band were in the same hotel as him, I just parked up and hopped a taxi back to the hotel where we drank the best part of a bottle of rum. And a few ciders, and whisky and schnapps before we ent to the Irish bar.
2 Guinness’s a couple of whiskey’ slater I was asleep on the bar. This is where Scott had to work out where I was. Good man.
Anyhow I wasn’t going to have any of that guff this time.
Also as we were only going a short distance to the next gig there was a day off the day after the gig. Excellent I can have a wee swally with the crew.
I watched the gig then after met the crew for a drink. They were drinking a drink called The Saint Bernard. This consists of a large Armagnac topped up with chocolate milk. Sounds disgusting but it’s really nice and very moorish.
After polishing off 3 bottles of almanac, Andi asked for another.
“Monsieur we have a special reserve”
“Aaar mayte that’ll be awlroit”
“Please not the chocolate milk, this is a vintage!”
“No problems mate”
Much to the Promoters disgust. Andi poured out large measures of Armagnac, by lining a load of glasses up and just, pouring the drink all along the line of glasses and all over the bar. Then sloshing chocolate milk the same.
Then without prompting decides the floor wasn’t enough for his funky moves and climbs (ungracefully) onto the bar, sending chocolate milk and Armagnac flying with a
Hits his head on the roof, gets down and picks up one of the Stranglers fans who happens to be not of tall stature with a hearty
“Dance for me midget!”
Said chappie does a dance to which Andi proclaims.
“You’re shit, that’s not moonwalking you’re going forewords!”
At this point I retired for the night, happy that my trailer was I and I could get away early Monday morning.
Get up Sunday for a day off, there’s a few casualties who stayed on the bus as they couldn’t be arsed going to their hotel. One of the casualties was Gary the TM, not so much a casualty more couldn’t be arsed bothering to get a taxi when the bus was literally outside the venue door.
“You need a shower Steve?”
“Yeah man please”
Then he orders a cab I go get a shower, then we go get some food.
Gary gets a call from the crew.
“We’re at the Cheval Blanc, come down it’s the most mental place we’ve been to!”
Not really up for a day of partying he declined but I went to see what the fuss was all about.
I got a cab there and it was totally mental.
The whole road was full of pissed up French people the pub was literally spilling out onto the street.
The bar owner and his wife were amazing. She was a lady of the larger bosomed variety and must have been Sixty Five. She had taken a shine to Andi and kept sticking his head Inher cleavage, much to everyone’s ammusement. She also kept blowing a whistle which was the signal for everyone to at least try to move out of the road and let a car through.
This got a cheer from everybody and a bit of friendly banging on the cars bonnet and roof. This only upset 1 lot of chavs, they sort of saw the sense in not complaining too much as there was about 200 people about.
There seemed to be waves of people coming from various other bars. I have never seen France quite like this how are all of these people ever going to get up for work in the morning? (Remember that question)
There was a lot of drunken good humoured tomfoolery going on. Including stage diving. Well dodgy diving off the unstable tables. And the participants were one of the girls that was at the gig aaaaaaaaand Andi.
I know which one was easier and lighter to catch and her sir name wasn’t Lycette that’s for sure.
I left the guys getting drunker and headed back to my bus.
Billy No Mates! My sleep pattern was playing havoc with me so I went to bed. Woke up at 3am as bleeding usual. Went back to sleep. About 7-8am I heard the bins by my bus being moved blimey the French bin men working a bank holiday. Well I suppose it’ll be double pay and a day off in lieu. Or knowing Le Francais. 2 days off.
Ah well back to sleep for a bit. Bus call isn’t until 11am. Only a quick jaunt to Belgique.
Roll out of my pit at 10, start brushing my teeth before I open my door mon Deux. What the fuck is this. A fuckin market has been set up all around my bus. I’d better check how far this shit goes and how hard it’s going to be moving a few people so I can back out.
I go and look at a notice posted. I’m no French expert but I could swear that says until 4 o’clock.
This situation is less than perfect. I send a message and a photo of the situation to Louie who’s reply was
The lads slowly started to return with much bemusement.
“There’s not a lot we can do guys”
Louie said
“Don’t worry I’ve called the promoters they’re on their way!”
“I have spoke to everyone around you, they will be packing up early, but the ones directly behind will not move until 4”
Ahhhhh shit.
“They are assholes”
We went for a look for food and a nose at some of the stalls.
Louie said to the promoters
“What’s the problem with them, they’ve got nothing but junk. Nobodies going to buy any of it it’s all rubbish.”
And right on que one of the girls there took a toddlers disposable nappy of it, put a clean one on, and tossed the full one just under my trailer..Lovely.
Louie asked the promoters what families like that were called in France.
“We call them Pikeys, what’s the French word?”
“Ah yes we have Pakistanis too!”
“No no Pikey not Paki.”
Eventually the family grim pack up and we get on our way.
Lots of goodbyes as it was the last show of the Stranglers 40th anniversary tour. Shame I wasn’t on it for more shows. It was great the few shows I did.
Hope to see everyone again soon.

Aaaaaaaaand onto the next one, and the next one, and another one.







“he said I’d pulled the spandex to one side and was just doing her. I wasn’t he’s just a cunt! I told everyone he sucked off a dog”

are we a fuckin bus yet



And so on to the Netherlands to Zwolle and the Hedon aaaaand I can’t really remember this gig. It would’ve been good tho’.
Actually thinking back I can remember bits of it. It was a brand new venue, we were the first named band to play there!
As it’s a new venue it’s been designed really well inside, outside is unusual and the load in has been,well, fucked up. Gary had given me rather odd parking instructions!!!! I pull into a massive car park and the lovely new load in bay all shuttered up. Have a mooch about, all around the side and about no sign of the power outlet. Take a walk the other way round the building to the front.
Park around the front of the venue the power is there. I go for a look and sure enough the power’s there in a narrow alley to reverse…

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“he said I’d pulled the spandex to one side and was just doing her. I wasn’t he’s just a cunt! I told everyone he sucked off a dog”



And so on to the Netherlands to Zwolle and the Hedon aaaaand I can’t really remember this gig. It would’ve been good tho’.
Actually thinking back I can remember bits of it. It was a brand new venue, we were the first named band to play there!
As it’s a new venue it’s been designed really well inside, outside is unusual and the load in has been,well, fucked up. Gary had given me rather odd parking instructions!!!! I pull into a massive car park and the lovely new load in bay all shuttered up. Have a mooch about, all around the side and about no sign of the power outlet. Take a walk the other way round the building to the front.
Park around the front of the venue the power is there. I go for a look and sure enough the power’s there in a narrow alley to reverse in, off a nice right hander bend. Blocking 2 lots of emergency exits a push bike rack also a handy looking load in door, which is now perfectly situated between the trailer and the bus. Nowhere near the the rear of the trailer where it needs to be. Maybe if they let me stay here the load in…….(I’m pretty sure you can guess what’s going to come next).
After a wee kip then a bit of mooching to find coffee once I’d woken up.
“Right Steve you need to go round into that big car park”
“The one I was in earlier this morning when we 1st got here?”
“Yes that’s the one, the big rolly door is the load in bay, you’ll need to reverse into it to get tipped”
“The big rolly door I was parked In front of this morning?”
“Yes but you can’t stay there”
Round to the door revere into the very tight load in shelter. A lovely loading dock with a lovely dock leveller. (Hydraulic loading ramp that lifts onto the back of trucks so they can be unloaded).
But I’m not a truck and there’s no ramp for loading from floor level noice.
Aaaaaaaand the loading shelter is just long enough to get a 40′ truck and trailer in just.
My bus and trailer are longer, coupler with the fact I’ve got to leave room at the rear of the trailer for unloading. Means they can’t close the shutter when I’m loading. And I can’t stay in the shelter when the gigs on.
“Mate I can’t drive back round the front, I’ll pull off the loading dock then reverse back onto it to load!”
“I’ll run a power lead out to you you can stay there!”
Result. The venues lovely just the loading dock. What a shame.
Good gig as usual.
Andi Lycett quote of the day

‘I was doing the washing up in me shorty wetsuit, and me dad just happened to turn up. What do you do?’

As the drive is so short we stop at the gig until the early hours of the morning. I had a couple of beers with the boys then went to bed.
So onto the long (ahem) 1&1/2 hour drive to Haarlem. Another new venue. Well part of it’s been done up.
“There’s the promoter in the black Merc infront.” Said Gaz “follow him as it gets a bit dodgy when you’re close, to the venue.”
The promoter waved at us, so I followed him.
Well when I said I followed him I thought he must know what size vehicle I’m in and he’ll take me an easy route into
“What the fuck, where the fucks he going?????”
BOLLOX they don’t have many bus’s down here actually…..
“Shit cakes I’ve got to drive down the centre of the road. Yeah, yeah I can’t get over the fuckin trees will have me glass out!”
Gaz was quite amused
“Did you see where he went Gaz?”
“He’s there on that bridge”
“I can’t go over that fucker it’s made of matchwood. Even I’m not that mad!”
“Fuckin bollox this is a bastard hosing estate.”
Promoters vanished the sat nav reckoned we were 2 streets away. I’ve still got to get over the fuckin’ canal and the roads getting perilously narrow.
One of the other lads came down the front. Took one look out the window.
“Oh shit, you want a coffee Steve?”
“Rum would be preferable mate!”
And he was gone. A few choice words and nifty manoeuvring. So much for a truck sat nav, you’d struggle with a van then a bridge.
G “Hang on mate sharp left here”
Sharp left means wide berth, stop, back up, shuffle forwards, another quick reverse, left again aaaaaaand we’re round.
G “Stop here”
M “Eh!”
G “There that big fuckin door. Wanker just look where that bastard cars parked! Will you make the turn?”
One way to find out, in in one.
Odd venue this one. The whole buildings on massive springs. Stops noise vibration tho!
On to catering and another Andi Lycett classic.

“I’ve got this Mexican Lucia mask and wrestling suit.
At me Nan’s funeral me Brother told everyone I was wearing it and doing me missus from behind.
he said I’d pulled the spandex to one side and was just doing her.
I wasn’t he’s just a cunt!
I told everyone he sucked off a dog.”





“I was rubbing cream into his arse, in the pub last night”

are we a fuckin bus yet



Alison from the Get Knotted MCC is kindly letting me leave my bike in her garage. So I called round hers Saturday to go for a thrash over Dordon to Salutations MCC party.
The plan……….Ride to Dordon, doss about until the Oxleathers MCC (My lot) turn up, have a drink. Be silly, ride back to Stafford in the evening.
The actuality….Ride to Dordon, meet loads of folk, get offered a tent, go to supermarket buy doss bag, nice comfy foldy chair, toothbrush, cans of Bow and Kopperberg. Let the silliness commence. Back to the campsite for ritual abuse and abusement. Crack can of bow, drink 1/2 of it phone call.
It’s Paul from a Galaxy cruiser (I’m flying out to Munich Monday to meet his driver, drive his bus to Hamburg to give him 45 hours break from driving).
Me. “Hey la how’s you doing?” (Paul’s Scouse)
Paul. “Alright la…

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