Small fury quadrupeds & bikers!!!
Morning! Well I think it is, I find myself staggering from our mobile abode, which is not so dissimilar to leaky Russian submarine. The Venue on first impressions could be mistaken as some sort of house of satanic worship, or the set from the Bar out of that movie dusk to dawn. No, No, I could be wrong, it would be more like the inside of a slaughterhouse, upon this thought I am reliably informed that this was the previous use of the building. I made my way to the facilities for my morning evacuation to be greeted by a different scene of urban decay. I perch my bum upon the cold stainless steal throne with a mere resemblance of a seat being represent by two plastic nodes that jab into your cheeks. I imagine that with all of the fixtures being ripped from the wall this would be scene a kin to an ablution block within wormwood scrubs! I sat pondering about the satanic carvings on the back of the door and wonder if some ritual sacrifice of virgins had taken place on some hidden altar!
Now somewhat lighter, but with a frozen bum with a divot in each cheek I make my way uncomfortably into the main room to see how the lampies are getting on. We exchange the usual niceties such as “Morning lighting filth” replied with “ fuck off Sound Scum!” to which I retort “ haven’t you finished yet?” or “get your shit outta my way!” They are Strange and intriguing pack of marauding beasts that are lead by a small boy in short pants, the other two are not too distant cousins from the African mearcat, poking their heads over the dilemma rack to scan for danger. After the exchange of department pleasantries, it now time to set our minds to work aided by our fine collection of local crew that on first impressions appear a little intimidating. I’m sure one them still had a bit road kill stuck in his beard, what looked like a small squirrel that had fallen from a tree only to die by misadventure being impaled upon the facial hair of some Hell’s Angel. Enough, we continued to build ourselves a ROCK CONCERT out of what resources we have to hand and shoe horn it into a pub gig, bit like Dr. Who and his Tardist , but fuck it it’s art. The day proceeds with the usual antic of Des and his capable colleagues Beaver and Gordie, performing a Varity of comedy sketches plucked from the ether.
Squadron Leader Milky, my charge for whom I’m responsible for, is building his small island of technology surround by racks of microwaves and rack mounted fish tanks etc. I have been lead to believe that Milky was once a much-decorated aeronaut surviving many sorties over North Korea against the communists in his Sabre Fighter Jet. An educated man of great nobility and stature, unfortunately once he has assembled his cockpit he is unable to peer over the top of his main control surface and adopts a demeanour unbecoming to a man of his disposition. He transforms into an irritated Jack Russell leaping up down during the show, much to the amusement of the surrounding crew and audience, we still love him though.
The show went on as usual piloted flawlessly Squadron Leader Milky and his capable co-pilot Abbiss (small boy in short pants) at the lighting controls. No Vampires leapt out of the wood work, but some punter that I thought I’d do the right thing by and give him some water because he was poorly, decided to chuck up over my flight cases the Bastard! The Load out went exceedingly fast aided by our team of hairy tattooed biker mates who turned out to be the best crew to date, and much merriment was to be had. The one thing I forgot to mention earlier on in this entry was that being no expert on lighting, I have never seen a back truss flown so low in my life, I guess we knew it was going to be low when the rigger stood on a road case on it’s end to rig the point! At the end of the gig the crew were entertained by Gary the tour managers bad disco dancing, what a site! Day off tomorrow in Hull, so much shenanigans to be had and the remaining crew on the Russian submarine. Milky led the way in been a Hooligan as he secretly is a closet anarchist and spends much of his time plotting various schemes on how to torment H.H.J.J. the bands Monitor engineer. From here on in it gets a little sketchy as I loose my composure, but certain events did stay in my mind such as Ozzie Jeff the disco dancing bus driver who was found dancing by himself in the aisle at 7:00 AM by John the merch man. Anyway all went a little crazy and found selves pre damaged for a day off.
Erik fart arse the Mallard duck.
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