10.30 ish Beever (real name), Gor and myself leave the hotel to go to the gig. Luckily we catch our bus leaving, get on the bus and reclaim our bunks up the front. Shut the front skylight and Gor got soaking wet, the bus leaks. On arriving at the gig, we meet the advance party of downtrodden workers, it’s 11am and the place is in chaos. There’s big tall bendy things sticking out of the stage with 5 tons of lights balanced precariously on the end. They’re shaking like a dog shiteing razor blades, looks dangerous! Must grumble. WHERE’S ABBIS? Backline is in, sit on our arses for a couple of hours while the PA and light boys do their bit. Oh well coffee and weetabix, all that plus toast and pies for that fat Gor.
Later in the day in the catering room, a call from downstairs in the gig for a grey haired old bastard, which we whittled down to mean Milky who wasn’t over the moon about the description. It’s a slow old day even with double light and sound crew but I’m sure it’ll come together in the end. Anyway, good excuse to shout at Abbiss a lot.
The extra crew consists of:
Magic and Erik - PA techs, Art and his mate Garfunkel - lighting techs, Susie D and Soozie C - dinner ladies, a Frothing Pint of Mentalness Cheeky Chappy - Cockney John - swagman, Geoff and Ian - bus drivers, Big Bad Johnny B (a cuddly bloke) and even bigger Peter G - truck drivers.
Soundcheck over, dinner time, Salmon, mmmmnnnnnnm catering. Soozie tells Abbis, “Don’t touch the plate, it’s very hot” so he immediately picks it up and causes a stink when he fills his nappy.
Gig over, got fried. Too many lights on me, what about about the band Abbis you C**T!!!
Load out, pisses it down. Have shower, saw Gor’s cute naked buns, got on bus to do the Irie Ting. See you all next time unless I’m a melted blob of goo and stuff.
Day out of ten equals three. Wish I was at home with the Wife.
Des Hill. |
