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This is the stage set up for my Q and A interview about the book at Rebellion Festival 2014 at the Winter Gardens Blackpool. The two Roly Birkin chairs were quite apt considering one of the bands in it is called CAIRO!! Richie was the interviewer and made me feel very calm, probably due to how nervous he was! He was great and he didn’t really have much to do because once I started talking I didn’t stop. People didn’t walk out and there was laughter in the right places. The thing that made it even better was spotting Jock and Carole in the audience, and I thank them for that. Jona Lewie was on after me and then I came back soon after to catch Jello Biafra and his take on Desert Island Discs. A very intelligent, intense guy with an encyclopaedic knowledge of all genres of music. I sat with him in the dressing room after his stint and was putting his vinyl back in their sleeves, obsessing over which plastic cover went with which record. He was treating them like the crown jewels and it was quite touching to see. I spoke to him on a couple of things and he was great, so I gave him a book which he flicked through and put into his bag of records. Thanks to Dom for looking after me and to Rat boy who was surprisingly organised despite being dressed in a Rat onesie! All in all a great day and Friday was going to be better.

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.

Mass, Ross and myself, ready for a Friday night out. Photographer;Dave

Saturday morning, June 21st; officially the longest day. It didn’t disappoint that’s for sure.

I was awoken at 6.45 am by people talking very loudly outside my tent. I couldn’t understand the reason for the volume because there were no other sounds to shout above, except for the odd Blackbird chirping away in the background. The distinct lack of sleep and post real ale hangover meant that my tolerance levels were considerably lower than normal. As a general rule on a run of the mill day they usually run at zero, so now we were into serious meltdown territory, but the smell of the coffee brewing nex door managed to appease me and thoughts turned to that first life support machine cuppa. I unfurled myself out of my cramped nylon Aga and greeted the morning sunlight with a weary, fuzzy feeling through screwed up eyes. Today was only going to be half a day because I had double booked a date with Billy Bragg in Holmfirth, which was a shame in one way; I would have liked to have spent another full day at the festival, but another part of my brain was telling me that I was not 21 anymore and a third night of Olympic drinking and Endurance non sleeping was not in the best interests of anyone.

Business was slow and it took a while for the arena to fill up, probably due to the excess partying that had taken place into the early hours, but just after lunch things were getting very busy. the weather was once again behaving itself and so was I because I had to drive back home later that afternoon for my rendezvous with Mr. Bragg. Ross came over as did Mass and Dave whom I had also befriended yesterday. Mass was the DJ from the first night and his knowledge of the original ska and reggae genre was encyclopaedic, plus he was actually playing vinyl with ONE deck only, unlike the headline act from Friday night who was just pretending to knob twiddle to a pre-recorded set (alledgedly). Another few books sold and it was time to pack up and leave the festival. Dave, Mass and Ross all helped me get my wares into the van and by 4.00pm everything was done. I donated my open plan gazebo to Mass and thanked them all for their help and company over the preceding few days. Rick and the boys came by on their way to the beer tent, looking a little delicate but they were going to soldier on until Sunday. I thanked them again for their hospitality and then I was off, like a dog in the fog, disappearing into the sunlight leaving a dusty haze behind.

All I can say was that it was a great experience; really chilled out festival, everyone was there for the music and beer and I would recommend Willowman to anyone, it was brilliant. Next up, Rebellion!

G.

I went to sleep in a fridge and woke up in an oven. Fully clothed and dehydrated I risked one eye outside the tent and saw that it was a beautiful morning. 4 hours sleep is not a great start but it was to be the norm I’m afraid, self regulation where alcohol and music is concerned is not my strongest subject. After a slow start on the stall people began to filter into the main arena  as this was the first day that the bands would fire up at lunchtime. Had a few enquiries, and a couple of bites but standing up all day is tiring, but luckily my new festival buddy Ross came over to look after my stall in true Eastenders fashion while I nipped off to the coffee van.

But Ross and I had other ideas and after much deliberating on what would be a reasonable but not desperate time to commence drinking, we decided on p.m. So at one second past 12 Ross popped to the bar for some liquid inspiration. Soon, the prototype t-shirts had been sold and several books followed. we decided that perhaps another round would keep the sales bouyant, so we imbibed in another to test our theory. Mmm perhaps it was coincidence because only one more sale was made before Ross went for a kip and I packed up the stuff and deposited it in my one man tent. Except now it was only habitable to Warwick Davis because of the clutter in there. Soon hunger began to get the better of me so I decided to try out a burger with hot chilli sauce, if only for the side effects of central heating later on in my now critically cosy accomodation.

When I came back Ross was there and he was clearly over exuberant to the point of bursting. “You’ll never guess who I have just been talking to”  he gushed. “Yeah I’ve just seen Ruffy and the boys, they’ve had a really crap day so I just left the book and a t-shirt with him, was he soundchecking?” I replied.

It was then that he showed me the photo he had just taken with the person in question. My gast was well and truly flabbered by the digital image in front of me, and while my Iris was calculating the enormity of the information Ross blurted out, ” It’s only Rick fuckin’ Buckler”!! Indeed it was Rick fuckin’ Buckler; The man who had inspired me to get into a band in the first place and was one third of arguably the greatest band to come out of the punk era The Jam. Here! Now! In the beer tent! I controlled myself and brushed off the tiny patch of wee that had secreted on to my trousers and made for the tent. He had to have a book whether he wanted one or not. As luck would have it was he very obliging and friendly, and after watching Ruts DC deliver a blistering set, and after I wished Ruffy the best,( as he was going straight back to his digs on his own due to another gig with another band the following day), we reconvened at the bar and who should walk back in but Rick and his mates Julian and John.

We left at about 3.00am after drinking the bar dry of Stella and some of the weirdly strong beers. Ross started to drink what was supposed to be Cider, but looked and tasted like it had travelled unopposed through the urinatory tracts of the whole of the bar staff, and back into the barrel from where it was being poured. Complete with sediment! During the evening 3 very drunk women came over to us and decided that Rick was famous and asked him if he was in Emmerdale!! He politely said no, but we all chipped in that he was to be seen regularly in Holby City. We eventually put them out of their misery but it was very funny.

So there ended a most surreal day. It was back home to a very full fridge.

Arrived on Thursday just before lunch. Met Charlotte at the gate who was very helpful and presented and fitted me with my festival wristband. Every time I saw her after that she seemed to be getting more hassle from all sides. Weather was great and after being shown to my ‘pitch’ I started to unload the van and begin the daunting process of erecting my recently acquired gazebo. Started off like a train and was soon getting the hang of it and within 15 minutes the frame was taking shape nicely. it was then that things started to go awry, and as I stood back to admire my magnificent erection it was then that I noticed that I had 2 poles still lying unused on the floor. The instructions didn’t mention anything about any spare parts, so after surveying the basic diagram on the screwed up piece of paper it seemed that I needed to extend the depth of the construction with the orphaned poles. Okay now we are back in business and time to put the roof on. With no instructions whatsoever and the wind picking up the swearing started. With the fabric roof piece flying about more than a gymnast’s ribbon I was beginning to feel suicidal/psychopathic at the lack of progress and to add fuel to the fire there were now people beginning to turn up and look around. In the end I ditched the sides and just ended up with an open plan design instead.
But the position was superb, in full view of the main stage and right next to the beer tent and the toilets, so not far to walk from one to the other (several times). After my stressful day which continued with every sudden gust of wind it was time for a drink. The sounds emanating from the tent were coming from the single deck of DJ Mr.Mass and he was superb. at the end of his set he managed to squeeze in some Ruts and Clash Punky Reggae tunes. also met Ross who stood out to me because of his Red Dr. Martens complete with yellow laces. That was the starting point of the conversation and an hour later at 1 am it was time to retire for the night to get ready for the first day of hopefully one or two sales. Goodnight

 

This photo is taken by Mike Patey-Ford who was my Art Teacher at the time and a very cool teacher. It wasn’t quite Anarchy in the school gym, as everybody (including the angst ridden punk band) had to take off their shoes so as not to ruin the wooden floor.

Outside Whaley Bridge Youth Club 1982. Nonchalent posing with essential ‘hand in pocket’ look was the order of the day.

Outside the Grosvenor Centre enjoying a ‘livener’. Once again unknown girl and hiding behind her with his Harrington pulled up is The Damned’s much abused Roadie/Gopher. In the foreground our coach driver, who must have wondered what the hell was going on!

Relaxing in a hotel foyer with unknown girl. I think she was called Christine

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