Missing Words

Since finishing and releasing the book, the mists of time have intermittently lifted to reveal untold tales. My overriding concern at the time of writing was not to disengage the readers with too much insignificant minutiae and in-jokes, a situation that being a member of a band is an unavoidable consequence. But the retrospective stories that will inevitably keep re-occurring need to be told for various reasons, so hopefully over the next few weeks as they appear like spectres through a wall (more Scooby Doo than Hammer), I shall try to tell them the best I can.

Part 1.

Viborg: Just say no!

For those of you who are familiar with my book, the ‘Country Years’ were a time of much frivolity and high jinx. But amongst all the laughter and camaraderie in the Breeze there were moments of tension, when things got really ugly and the pressure cooker situation of a testosterone fuelled Transit van spilled over into wanton violence and left scars that are still felt to this day. Forgiveness is not an option.
It all started so well. We were on the way back from a gig, possibly Dinnington, when we decided to stop for something to eat on the way home. It was well after midnight and we were quite tipsy, except for Andy who was not renowned for his ability in heavy, or indeed light, drinking. More of which later. Being so late night/early morning we were drawn to the temple of the Golden Arches and parked up in the motorway service area.
For whatever reason Phill decided not to walk the 20 yards to the entrance and instead dispatched Andy to get his high quality cuisine with a fiver. Yes kids a fiver, in those halcyon days even on the M1 a fiver would get you a maccy d. Andy returned with requested ‘meal’ and promptly gave Phill his change (yes I know,change? from a fiver? on the M1? Unbefuckinglievable!). But this is where things got nasty.
On receiving his change Phill promptly asked for the rest as he assured Andy that he gave him a tenner. Andy repeated that he was only given a fiver and that was the truth. Now anyone who knows Andy will also be aware that he is the meekest, kindest man you could wish to meet and I personally would trust him with any amount of cash, but tonight he had Viborg coursing through his veins and he was in no mood to be accused of being a liar and a thief.
Viborg, in its purest form was a bomb waiting to go off inside even the hardest drinker, but once inside this mild mannered guitarist the chemical imbalance turned him from the Dali Lama into Genghis Khan in two cans. He bought it because it was cheap and strong, due to Andy being ‘careful’ with his money, but it tasted like shit. During the evening Andy had been knocking back his lady petrol in earnest. After Phill’s accusation that he had been short changed Andy lost it in a big way.He slammed his Mc thick shake down so violently on the dashboard that it exploded,and legend has it that the stain is still visible in the right light. Seething with rage and shouting at such a pitch that dogs within a 1 mile radius were trembling, he told Phill to retract his statement. That wasn’t going to happen and myself and Steve were getting extremely concerned through our tears of laughter, which didn’t help matters, and at one point we thought we might have to call the fire brigade to remove what remained of aforementioned thick shake from Andy’s arse. If it had come to fisticuffs then I’m afraid Andy’s hopes of starting a family would have been seriously compromised.
Even after all these years it still rankles and funnily enough I don’t think we ever stopped at a McDonalds again, except on the odd occasion to use their McCrapper.