Time ...

There's never enough time. To blog, to write, to sing, to play guitar, to answer emails, to reply to texts, to just sit.

Stop.

Live.

And once again it's way too sparse a blog. I'm feeling inspired though. I need to rant, and not just in song writing. I have a place right here. Sometimes on Facebook and Twitter I don't get involved too much in opining one way or the other. Yes I'll moan and grump along with the best of them, but not actually get involved with anything political or too controversial. That's because words CAN be misconstrued and they tend to hang around on t'internet.

So expect more. Much more.

Fun and Sun and Formula One

Weather: er .. rubbish, rain rain and more rain

Track temperature: Excited

Formation lap

If somebody says to you that you are invited to a weekend that will combine 2 of your favourite passions, AND that you HAVE to buy new shoes, you would be in your element, wouldn’t you? And indeed I was, as 50ft Woman were invited to play the Marussia Virgin Racing Weekend at the British GP. That the shoes were Wellingtons could be overlooked.

I hadn’t realised the sheer choice in buying a pair of wellies. I hadn’t, in fact, WANTED the choice, as anyone who knows me and my reputation will know, I don’t DO wellies (I don’t do flat shoes if I can at all help it) and so the prospect of buying and owning a pair was a big thing. 2 hours of browsing later and a glossy red pair, were winging their way, along with some funky zebra welly socks to accessorise and some necessary waterproofs. On Twitter @markblundellf1 pooh poohed my purchase, exclaiming that ‘it’s not Glastonbury’ and my photographer friend @gig_shots soothed my ‘welly’ fears by referring to them as rubber boots. Of course! I DO rubber! I DO boots. Well, Mark Blundell, as you will see, it WAS camping, even though technically it was ‘glamping’, and the Wellingtons were welcome, so there!

Lap 1

Friday did NOT look good weather wise. The plan was to drive down to arrive at teatime, so that we could join in with the team BBQ and catch the bands. I had very kindly been given our provided accommodation (A TENT- (I don’t DO camping either! But thanks @M5CUD)) the whole weekend, with the rest of the boys arriving on the Saturday; It’s a bit of supposed role reversal in our band, as it’s me who is the motorsport nut.

It did seem that we were a bit mad, deciding to go the night before, in the rain, when me and Mr 50ft hadn’t ever camped since we were kids. OK, technically this was ‘glamping’; pre-erected tent, airbeds and new sleeping bags provided, but it was still sleeping one thin sliver of fabric away from the world, the grass, the RAIN …

BUT, I decided, it would be better to regret being there, than regret no going, and so after a tussle with our hasty decision, we hurriedly packed (are we leaving home? Just how much stuff DO you need camping?) and set off, only to spend the next few hours in the Friday night traffic snaking its way west out of London. No speed here L

Lap 2

There’s nothing really that can prepare you for such sights as Stowe school. Set in grounds designed by Capability Brown, it is one of the quintessentially British sights; an avenue of trees, a long drive way, and a beautiful Grade 1 listed building. When I compare it to the 60s brick monstrosity I went to school in, I can now see why someone like Richard Branson would be inspired to keep on keeping on!

Even more exciting, however, is the sign which says Marussia Virgin Racing Weekend. I’m easily pleased, though we are much later than I had hoped, and for once, not because of the infamous Silverstone traffic (yes, we are THAT late).

As we park on the grass, with no clue as to what the campsite looks like, as it is hidden behind a row of mature trees, I can hear the strains of music. Now I am really excited, as this means I haven’t missed seeing the bands. It is still lightly raining but I will not allow this to dampen my spirits … until I hear the sounds of ‘Just Drive’ wafting through the trees. So this must be Alistair Griffin playing .. great! And then the realisation that, as the song he is most known for currently, being specially written for the montage at the end of the 2010 BBCF1 season, this WILL be the last one in his set.

And sure enough it is. The equivalent of a arriving at a concert to hear ‘thank you and goodnight’.

Bugger.

Lap 3

Glamping obviously also involves some nice Marussia Virgin ladies showing you to your tent J. This is after they have given you complimentary drinks, a torch, a nice laminate with vouchers for free food and invited you to partake of the Virgin Summer of Love Ice Cream Van giving away free ice creams! Am in heaven? Utopia? Some upside down universe where everyone is smiling but it is still raining?

The pre-erected tents are arranged in an almost army camp style, each one numbered (this will be fun when one has had a few!). Looking over the left there are the posh bell tent yurt things, which the nice MVR lady tells me are the staff and VIP tents. Then the car display that seemed to ebb and flow throughout the weekend as people who brought ‘cars that deserve to be looked at’ go to and from the track. The 2 Marussia cars are centre stage along with the Marussia Virgin car, tucked up in bed for the night and against the nasty rain. Past that I can see the pop-up hotels, which look like very posh portakabins, all lined up neatly in a row, all looking very inviting when compared to a tent!

 

Lap 4

Twitter is a marvellous thing. Not only had it brought about this very opportunity I was standing in right now, but had also ensured that I ‘knew’ people here before I had even arrived. It was thanks to Mr @PlanetF1 that the 50ft Woman name got bandied about as a suggestion for the MVR Weekend. His Twitter friend @tyres2u had then picked up on it, and put forward the suggestion to @M5CUD who was organising the MVR Weekend.

The fact that I am still referring to my new ‘tweeps’ by their Twitter names is no coincidence. Mr 50ft was most amused by the fact that as we made ourselves known and were subsequently introduced to more people I knew from Twitter, we referred to each other by our Twitter monkicers. Ooh hello @F1Cartoonz, no I haven’t met @grandprixdiary … Mr 50ft reckoned it all sounded rather like a Star Wars convention. Maybe so, but make friends before did she …

Lap 5

And then the rain stopped. I still thank God for wellies, though amazingly, the ground is pretty firm. This could well be to do with the fact the whole campsite is based on the cricket pitch. This in itself feels a bit naughty and rebellious, even when wearing aforementioned wellies rubber boots.

The Chakras come on to the stage, and great as they are, have a hard time with the over excited, over wet crowd, some of which quite possibly are Twitter people talking in hash tags. #soexcited #f1 #mvrweekend

The compere of the weekend is someone called ‘Webbo’ who looks and sounds familiar, and who I will probably find out later is ‘someone’. He announces that the drivers and team have now arrived, and are to be introduced by none other than @CroftyF1, the presenter/commentator of BBC 5Live f1 tean. And we have the whole set of drivers! Timo Glock and Jerome D’Ambrosio (introduced, of course, as ‘Custard’) and also reserve drivers Sakon Yamamoto and new signing Robert Wickens, from Canada, who had been making waves in this season’s Formula Renault 3.5.

After asking Sakon what reserve drivers DO on a racing weekend (answer – sleeping), the questions are thrown open to the crowd and unsurprisingly mainly consist of requests to crash into Sebastian Vettel and break his pointy winning finger. After these not very sporting or appropriate requests, talk moves to the new MVR partnership with McLaren and more relevant goals for the weekend. The drivers then bravely move off the stage for photographs/autographs and the crowd are iron filings to the F1 magnets. I stay by the bar and watch from a safe distance.

Robert Wickens and Timo Glock

Jerome D'Ambrosio ('Custard'), (DJ) Sakon Yamamoto and Crofty

Lap 6

I am having to sleep in a tent. We abandoned the provided airbeds and go for our super duper double airbed. only to realise it has an electric pump and as we are in a tent, there are no plugs. Much hilarity ensues as we plug it in, in the cute vanity tent, complete with starlet bulb mirrors (and pet moths and goths), then struggle to get it out, across the field, sorry pitch, and into our tent and bedroom compartment.

I am still having to sleep in a tent.

Lap 7

Sleeping in a tent is noisy, and cold. Despite the cosy sleeping bags provided I am woefully underequipped, probably mostly mentally, and due to the design of the sleeping bag, I can’t reach down to my toes and pull my socks up. I am starting to feel slightly claustrophic, but thankfully due to a slight imbibence of alcohol and the sheer tiredness from a prolonged heightened excitement I fall asleep, despite the DJ set going on across the field, sorry pitch, and the enthusiastic chatter of fellow campers around me.

Lap 8

You wake up early in a tent. At first I think that it has been raining and there is a leak within the tent, but then realise it is actually condensation. A small army of tiny spiders seems to have taken up overnight residency. I can’t scratch my foot. And though I need to go to the loo, I will have to put on a coat and rubber boots and venture across a field. Pitch, sorry. I also put on shades. It’s not sunny, and it’s not something I normally do, but as I have been nowhere near a mirror I am not risking looking like a scarecrow with tiny spiders in my hair. At least this way no-one will recognise me. And then from the hellos I receive, I curse the decision to buy bright red Wellingtons. ;)

Lap 9

Sadly, though I have tickets for Qualifying, the camp site is just that bit too far away to risk not being back for our soundcheck at 2, despite the regular transfers to and from the track. And so I settle down at the site with a hearty veggie cheese and mushroom roll from Jamie Oliver’s Fabulous Feasts and a surprisingly good cup of tea. I had heard grumblings about the coffee and that the ‘man by the transfer meeting point’ was far superior, but as a tea drinker, I’m fine. I have a big screen showing re-runs of F1 free practice in the run up to quaili, and though there are spits of rain on and off, there is a huge tent for everyone to snuggle under with loungers and chairs, and a few parasol umbrellas. And of course, I have wellies.

Lap 10

The other 50ft-ers arrive. For musicians they are always surprisingly on time, and usually early. They decide to all bunk down together in the other tent and raid ours of redundant airbeds.

Steve, who is the band liaison guy for the event issues us with wristbands and shows us where the dressing room is, complete with ubiquitous mystery musician-from-another-band on the only sofa.

The sound and monitor guy are most curious when they spot my custom mic-stand, complete with brass knuckleduster height adjuster and POW on the base, and already I think we have made an impression! We don’t give our away our surprise intro at soundcheck, and thankfully most people are still at the track. I gratefully have enough time to catch up on qualifying on the big screen, snuggle in one of the loungers that proves to our base for the rest of the day and night!

There is a free energy drink being handed out, with the name Pussy. The poor promo girl who is rolling the supplies around in a wheelbarrow to give to everyone is understandably by now, fed up at the jokes, and so the 50ft boys adding their tennpennerth does not go down too well., However, with a name like Pussy and with a band like ours, it’s a joke that runs and runs, famed as we are for our Carry On 2011 humour. (I’m taking my Pussy on stage …, Have you seen my Pussy? I only turned around for a moment and it’s gone, There’s free Pussy backstage, I might go and get some, I stashed some Pussy in my tent for after the gig, This Pussy tastes gooooood etc etc etc)

Lap 11

I had prayed that rain wouldn’t arrive before our set. Checking both BBC weather and weather.com, who both said different things, I had decided to believe whichever had the better weather, only for them both to be wrong. Just plain rain.

I pity the poor Scarletz who have to go on before us, but thankfully it seems to brighten up a little. Time for me to transform from wellies and big North Face coat to Ms Minki Fiftyfoot. I do feel a little incongruous teetering across the grass with high heels, full make up and bunches. I decided on an outfit based on the MVR colours, which is no hardship being that they are red, black and white, which most of my wardrobe consists of. Axel and the boys had just been playing Gorodki (no I don’t know either) and Axel had won himself an MVR cap, which I decided to don for my grand entrance.

Lap 12

Intro … dum, dum da dum da da dum dum dum DUM … yes, as rehearsed, the boys start the set not with our usual intro, but with The Chain. We wanted to fully embrace the occasion, and so as I step onto the stage, I say in the immortal words of Mr Murray Walker, 50ft Woman are go go go!

It’s actually a hard gig when most people are seated a good 20 feet away, some under a giant tent, most there more for F1 rather than to see a band. But everyone seems to be enjoying it nonetheless (I am even heckled, in a nice way, by @diabloskinz), and we also slip in a cover of Turning Japanese into the set to try and catch people’s attention. I also decide to take pictures on stage during the guitar solo (not the best photos it has to be said) and nearly forget to sing!

Turning Japanese I think ...

I'm Turning ...

Japanese ...

I really think so ...

 Someone up there must like us, as the sun decides to come out, right on cue for the start of Ice Cream Man. It’s a shame we haven’t organised the Virgin Ice Cream Van to roll up the field at the end …

And all too soon we are at the end of the set; the faux orgasmic strains of (Strictly) Only Swinging, ringing in our ears; a sunset sparkling through the trees and time for a different type of r‘n’r.

 

Lap 13

Safely ensconsed in my now infamous Monza jacket and wellies, it’s time to party. With performances from Life In Film and Dry the River, over, it’s time for birthday boy DJ Sakon to take to the stage. Yes, Sakon, he of the reserve driver roster. Introduced by cheeky @CroftyF1 as DJ Suckoff Yamamofo, he proceeds to go way over his allotted time and controls the decks for a good few hours.

(View the infamous Monza jacket here in the MVR photo diary)

In this time I discover that a. it IS possible to dance in wellies, b. Axel, 50ft drummer is the new Cat in the Hat and can breakdance like a wild ‘ting’, c. Pussy mixed with red wine is actually very nice, d. the whole band will up and dance if you play Thriller or Smells Like Teen Spirit, e. there are certain members of the MVR team who can party with the best of them, despite having to be at work at 8am the next day  (shhh I won’t tell!).

We head for the tents one song before the end of the DJ set, obviously showing that once 50ft Woman leaves the party, there IS no party. (Or apparently not, as I was informed later that the ‘after-party’ didn’t end until about 3am, with Crofty holding court until the wee hours.)

Lap 14

I wake up, once again, in a tent. I swear our ‘pet’ spiders are bigger than yesterday. Maybe this is what they mean by the greenhouse effect. Either way I don’t like it. Every time we walk into the tent in the ‘lounge’ area, they abseil from the ceiling and land in your face as you walk in. I don’t mind spiders, but these ones are just evil. I think they are the Territorial Army of spiders and are ordered to land on unsuspecting visitors to the tent. I also don’t like killing things, but have to resort to waving a Boots bag around to try and dislodge them.

Lap 15

With the boys gone, breakfast eaten and excitement mounting, along with apprehension at the clouds, we set off to the track. The transfers to the track are regular and busy, but thankfully don’t take long. Apparently the last one back is 6pm and it’s over a 40 minute walk cross country if you miss it. After the amount of dancing I did last night and the fact the bloody sleeping bag meant I could hardly move my legs, how much they are aching means I don’t fancy the hike, and probably couldn’t manage it anyway.

There’s a real atmosphere at the track. Much more than I remember at previous British GP. Webber is on pole, Jenson is 5^th and Lewis is down in 10^th, which could all make for an exciting race. A lot depends on the weather. It’s Silverstone, so could well be raining in one part of the track and sunny in the other.

Lap 16

Thank god I brought my waterproofs. Having been tricked by the early morning sunshine, a lot of people are flip-flopped and shorted, completely devoid of Plan B clothes. So the sudden downpour before the race sees me slightly smug, watching the Red Arrows plume across the sky, dry under my waterproofs. (I LOVE the Red Arrows!) The only setback is realising my trainers are NOT waterproof AND I only brought the waterproof jacket, not the trousers. Seeing as we have a ticket for Vale, which is an uncovered grandstand, this could be an issue, but thankfully the rain holds off through the race, but leaves enough wet on the track for everyone to start with Inters. I find out later that part of the track is REALLY wet, causing a few aquatic acrobatics in the formation lap, yet down on the pit straight it’s a dry as a bone. Silverstone, the tarmac epitomy of an English summer.

Lap 17

Vale provides a good all over view, from Stowe corner all the way round Club and onto the new International Pit Straight. We can even see the HRT’s on the back of the grid. It’s tricky following what’s going on, as the ‘big’ screen looks tiny from where we are and even with my usually bionic eyesight, I can’t read the stats. My phone battery died in the early hours, and so I have to rely on squinting and memory skills to work out who is what, where and how. Sadly, I can see easily Jenson’s fate after the disastrous pitstop. Luckily we see one of the best moves of the race as Hamilton drives side by side with Massa before overtaking him at Club on the closing lap, a move that has everyone on their feet in awe/excitement/intrepidation, depending on your loyalties.

 

Lap 18

All too soon it’s over for another year. We decide to mosy on down and check out the after party near the new Village complex.

We are rewarded with Tony Jardine interviewing Jenson, and the BBC F1 pundit Eddie Jordan and his band of Robbers, making up for missing the usual TV F1 Forum frolics.

Lap 19

As it starts fast approaching 5.30, we head back to the transfer meeting point, terrified of having to walk back to Stowe school. We are warned that the journey will take time in all the traffic, but are pleasantly surprised when it only take 40 minutes – to go 3 miles J. At the drop off, we are given a lift by one of the VIP MVR liveried Discovery’s, one of the most welcome treats of the day! The guys and girls in the team are so friendly, happy to chat and make a fuss, no matter who you are.

Lap 20

We are packed and ready to head off, but decide to eat before sitting in the traffic. And then … I notice a familiar face. It’s Manish Pandy, Writer and Executive Producer of the Senna film. We were lucky enough to attend a Q&A screening of it, so we know we know his face. I had known that MVR were going to screen the film but we had thought we would miss it. But of course, caught up in all the F1-ness of the day, and our passion for Senna, we sit mesmerised once again. Despite the spitting rain, there is something magical about the fact we sit, watching, outside, on a big screen, not 3 miles from Silverstone, after the British GP, at a camp site hosted by an F1 team. I’m actually glad it’s raining as I can pass off my sniffles as a consequence of that, rather than the fact I am soft thing, blubbing my eyes out. Even though you KNOW the story, and KNOW what’s coming, it still gets you every time.

And then, as the credits roll … and I dry my eyes … a voice announces that Terry Fullerton, the very driver Senna has just announced on film that he has the most satisfaction of racing against, and that ‘He was, for me, a very complete driver. I have that as a very good memory’, is in the audience. You can feel the ripple go through the crowd. I have goosebumps .. and it’s nothing to do with the cold. I am also crying again, like a fool.

Lap 21

As we leave, or rather I run away due to embarrassment, after saying my croaky goodbyes, we turn back at Stowe School to view the sunset, with George I on horseback. It’s magical, like a scene from Harry Potter.

Stowe and Silverstone have cast a spell on me. I think MVRW doesn’t stand for Marussia Virgin Racing Weekend, I think, for me, last weekend, it stands for Magical, but Very Real …Weekend.

Thanks again to @SterlingChild (50ft bass man), @50ftTechnician (50ft guitarist), and the rest of the none Twittified 50ft-ers, @PlanetF1, @tyres2u, @M5CUD, @MarussiaVirgin and probably most of all, Twitter.

#letsdoitagainnextyearplease #savingupforamotorhome  

(more pics and videos to come later)

The Union Tour - 01/10/10 York Day Off - The Road to Hell

And so we need to start the long journey back from York. I was going to get the train back, as I have a radio session tonight, but everyone assures me we will be back in time.

Except Mark can't find the van. No, really, he is walking the streets, looking for the van. He knows he's in the right area, but can't QUITE remember where it is. He parked it in a residential area and all the streets look the same. At first everyone thinks this is funny. We think he is joking.

He is not joking.

I am receiving text updates that all say the same thing. "I can't find the van.

It is also STILL raining.

And lo, the text message arrives "FOUND IT".

Phew.

Poor Mark is absolutely sodden and we make him get changed so he doesn't get pneumonia.

It is STILL raining.

It is raining across the whole of the UK it seems. Or maybe it's just a tiny strip down the whole of the M1. Either way it takes SEVEN hours to get back to London. Which obviously I hadn't banked on. I am meant to be at the studio for 5, which obviously has come and gone. The fingernails disappear one by one. There is no Paranormal Activity to take my mind off it, everyone is tired, Dave is not well and the weather is not helping.

I send text updates to the boys at the studio who are there, set up and ready. Every single mile is wet and taking way too long! Poor Mark must be exhausted, having to concentrate so hard.

The show on Recharged Radio starts at 7... I get there at 7.10. Everyone is relieved. I am bedraggled, tired, and have the ubiquitous tour cold, thankfully a few days old, and I haven't sung and in fact, don't even know if I CAN sing.

Er .. Jordan is dancing?

Atmospheric live radio session :)

The atmosphere at Rock of London (or Church of Steve Honest as we call it) is amazing, the show goes fine, after a few technical hitches (it's the first live Forum show on Recharged Radio), my voice holds up and after a welcome post-show wine I realise just HOW tired I am.

Back home. It's a goooooooood sleep.

--------------------------------

Just have to point out that the day after is a day off at home. Dave is staying at Pete's and though he is not well, they both hate days off at home as much as I do, and we text each other just constantly moaning how bored we are. They compensate by drinking. I have lots of stuff to do, but would much rather still be on tour. You end up in a little cocoon on tour and to have a break that is at home snaps you back into reality, which is a shock you would rather not have. (You know ,washing, ironing, the washing up, bills ... etc)

Roll on tomorrow, where I give up the mantle of merch lady and become 50ft Woman :)

The Union Tour - 30/09/10 York Fibbers

I wake up really fancying an MnS vegetable samosa ... only to remember I donated it to the Hungry Lathan fund. Bugger.

Everyone is a bit bleary eyed at the lack of sleep - which annoyingly is not from rock 'n' roll shenanigans, but from gay bar outpourings. I seem to remember it was a pretty quiet  journey, no films and a lot of sleep. I actually have a very funny picture of Pete and his 'I need sleep' method, but I think I would get into trouble, so I won't post it. :)

We do the journey in mega quick time, only to get completely stuck when the satnav directs us down a dead end when we hit York. We try again and the same thing happens, though we do get a nice if albeit quick view of York Minster. We all reach for our phones and turn on the maps. Luke, Chris, Mark and my phone all say we are somewhere completely different. Hmmm. Much discussion ensues. I then remember I actually have GPS built into my Android phone (as opposed to everyone else's iPhone). Suddenly I can actually see us moving down the road on the map on my phone ... and going in completely the wrong direction.

It takes a bit of convincing for Mark and Luke to trust both me and my phone, but then Luke sees that the dot on my phone is actually moving, so it must be true :) It's a bit of a funny way to get to Fibbers as it's all one way narrow streets. We've gone from being really early to being quite late, but eventually we get there.

Oh joy, it's all on one level! Less joy, when we find out that yet again, there is a freshers week do happening straight after the show again. Sigh.

There is also a limited place to put the merch, and tonight I'm going to be sharing with Ricky Warwick's merchandise guy. There's nowhere to hang my washing line tonight, so I improvise by tying it round the poster frames. It sort of works, if not up to my usual standard. It's at this point I also find out that the lighting is REALLY going to be a problem tonight. The lights in the venue ALL go out. Not only will I not have lights on the T-shirts, but noone will be able to look at the fantastic Deluxe booklet. The promoter says he will try and rustle up some lights.

It's 5 o clock and the promoter comes to say he hasn't been able to get any lights. Ah. Problem. if I EVER needed clip on spotlights, it's now. But as i have come to find, nowhere seems to sell the anymore. Downhearted I venture out anyway, only to find a shop literally down the road from the venue that seem to sell lighting, in fact anything that belongs in the bracket of household. OMG I spot clip on spotlights! Yay. A man stands in my way. He is not holding the door open. In fact he is shutting it. No. Er .. sorry, we're closed. Oh, not so yay. In fact not yay at all. I actually feel like crying. I try and explain that it is an emergency, if buying clip on spotlights can ever BE and emergency. He is not budging. I try fluttering my eyelashes. "Sorry" he says. And then ... and then .. like a saviour, a man appears behind him and whispers the immortal words "What is it you needed? Come in ...". I think he might even have a halo.

He leads me through the shop, lights all out, until we reach the lighting department. And WHAT a lighting department it is. I scoff at the measly clip on spotlights I first spotted in the window and point excitedly at the directional ones I have spotted. Clip on AND bendy! I also get a couple of adjustable desk lamps so that we can highlight the deluxe booklet. My life is almost complete. I waffle excitedly on about the gig and The Union and the merchandise stand and thank him about a zillion times.

My saviour was Paul at Barnitts - and I have to point out they sell pretty much everything. Including a RANGE of clip on spotlights! And quite probably halos too.

On return to the gig I unpack with glee. I think Ricky's merch guy thinks I'm a bit crazy. (thankfully Ricky doesn't treat me as such. Our paths have crossed a few times over the years, though we have never spoken, which we both agree is a bit weird.) I disappear and get changed, suddenly coming back in with red lipstick and a my 'night time' work outfit. He's very laid back whereas I am fussing around with spotlights and tables and washing lines and bits of card with prices on. I don't care, he's benefiting from the lights anyway. And a good job too, as the doors open, the lights do indeed, go out.

Let there be light ... and there was light

It would have been IMPOSSIBLE. It's very, very dark. Strangely though, there don't appear to be any moving lights on stage. It's a bluey white wash that is static, all the way through Ricky's set, and then all the way through the boys' set too. Very weird.

The set is great tonight. However, I am distracted by a woman who decides to dance the whole way through the set. And by dance, I mean properly dance. A mixture of what looks like half ballroom, half break-dancing and body popping. Even in the quieter numbers. It's quite disconcerting seeing someone moonwalk to Saviour. Still, she seems to be having a thoroughly good time, so good for her!

And then, while the band are attempting to have an aftershow in the back bar, the place then fills up with students. At least I have light to count T-shirts! Trying to manoeuvre boxes out through the dancing excitable freshers is a bit tricky though and I have to do a bit of moonwalking myself to get round them. It's a very rushed get out. So much so that we find out we have TEN minutes to clear the venue before they shut the door! And that includes the band too! And surprise surprise, it's raining again. Where's Supertramp when you need 'em?

Back at the hotel we find that there IS a bar - YAY. And the bar/nightman is cool with us drinking our own beer/wine. Double YAY.

Poor Mark has investigated the parking around the hotel, of which there appears to be NONE. I investigate on my now esteemed GPS Android phone. However, the van is too high for an NCP. It's amazing, when you have had a couple of beers, how brave you get. I flag down a local cab at the traffic lights and ask him where we can park a van. He mumbles something about Tesco at the top of the hill and off Mark goes to try and find it. He is advised to get a cab back. How far IS this Tesco?

About an hour later he turns up, saying he couldn't find any Tesco and has parked it in a residential area about a mile away. poor thing. I don't have any more bubble bath or samosas to give him. :)

Dave is starting to feel a bit rubbish and when he goes out for a fag, I go out with him. Only to realise that we are standing in what appears to be a carpark. A hotel carpark? Oh dear. Nice of the receptionist to tell Mark.

At least we had the foresight to get more of the beers out of the van this time, so we don't run out.

Dave is going down by the minute and heads off to bed. Pete, who he is sharing with, regrets this later when he find that his room key doesn't work, and of course Dave will then be asleep. The surly receptionist is then called upon to provide a replacement key and Pete manages to finally get in his room.

It's still raining.

The Union Tour - 29/09/10 Glasgow Cathouse

And so, after the 'Scottish Water incident', we are safely away and on our way to Glasgow. Apparently it's not far, though it does appear to be across country, but that could just be the satnav.

And just as we thought the get -ins couldn't get any worse, we reach The Cathouse. It's like doing a gig in one of the pyramids - the stairs go on for ever and ever. We are spoilt today though, as we have 2 road crew helping us out. They have muscles of steel and accents you could cut fried cheese on. They are cool. Within 20 minutes, all the gear is up the stairs and loaded in. OK, there is another flight to go, but that, too, is done in record time.

I said fried cheese, in honour of Glasgow as Dave has promised to take Pete and me to the Blue Lagoon to sample fried Mars bars (though Pete is insisting he wants a Lion Bar, just to be different. Typical singer.), the local delicacy. I am so excited by this. After my diet of petrol station sandwiches I need something with more er ... grunt. Mind you, this morning we were spoiled, with an MnS shop in the petrol station. I immediately went a bit crazy stocking up on 'my secret emergency stash' and have goodies galore. A battered Mars Bar would just be the piéce de resistance at this point!

Dave is very quiet this morning. He's quite quiet most mornings, but really obviously so today. It's his home gig, and all his family and friends are coming, so he is very nervous and very pale. What's particularly nice is that there is a massive drum riser on stage, so everyone will be able to see him, which is great, as he is one of the most watchable drummers I have seen in a long time. He doesn't just 'play drums', he actually performs. His folks are in for a treat tonight!

I have already sussed out my best vantage point - it's right at the back but it's raised up, so once again I can stand and watch the band AND keep an eye on the merchandise. Only problem is, the stand is in the back bar, well away from the band AND the audience AND the bar will be closed. Dave suggests making some signs to tell people where the merch is.

I do this, and put little comments like 'come and say hello'.

After doors opening, it actually works. I really do have people popping round to say hello, and it's nice to see some faces from other gigs too. It's a really good crowd and people already seem to have the same loyalty to The Union as they did to Thunder, which is good to see (and something most bands can only dream of.).

At one point when the support band are on, and have just finished a number, I hear a noise. Someone is screaming. Very loudly. And for a very long time. A couple who are at the merch stand look at me.

I then realise what the noise is. It's Pete warming up, and as the dressing room is only the other side of the bar, it's really loud! My god, that man has some lungs. He yells up and down for a good ten minutes. If I warmed up like that before a gig I wouldn't even make the first song! The couple look very impressed. I am too, and a bit jealous. I've always wanted that gravel in my voice for years and Pete sounds like he has been gargling bulk bags of aggregate for about 40 years, which, quite obviously, is impossible.

Dave emerges from the dressing room, looking like a ghost. He looks at the crowd, comes over to say a brief hello and then disappears again. Poor poppet.

The gig, well, is awesome. It's pretty much the Dave McCluskey show. He must either have LOTS of friends, LOTS of family, or just the whole of Glasgow loves him. At one point I even well up. ('Get te fock' Dave would say, I can hear him now :) )

Rubbish photo, but great view!

It's only after the gig has finished, and the Dave fan club has got all their photos, autographs, kisses and cuddles (the latter from his family, obviously), and the gear has been taken down the stair mountain (in even more record time than before from the Glaswegian Speedy McGonzales crew, who must live on Ir'n Bru) that I remember the bloody Mars Bar. Hrumph.

Back at the hotel, once again there is no bar, but they have a staircase in a turret, so I forgive them. Fiona and I are on the ground floor, but the room is nice, modern and quite funky. They had warned us that there might be noise from the bar round the corner. On the way back in the van we scoff about this - we are rock 'n' roll - they'll be well closed by the time we go to bed!

Luke draws the short straw for bedroom 'bar duty', and it's a snug fit, as two of Dave's band mates join us. There has been a mix-up with the rooms and Mark, Chris, Pete AND Dave are sharing a dorm-style bedroom, so I think us all trooping into Luke's room is a punishment thing. He must be a bit tired as he announces that there is a curfew on tonight, to which we all agree and then ignore!

Mark comes in from parking the van and announces he is hungry. Now after yesterday's bubble bath snub, I'm not so pissed, mellow and generous AND my stash just happens to be an MnS vegetable samosa, one of my favourite snacks.

My maternal instinct gets the better of me, and off I troop down the turret staircase to get said snack. on the way back Dave and Craig (from White Ace, now River 68s) are coming back from having a fag, and Dave spots the samosa and announces he is starving. Now I feel bad. I only have one.

I suggest that Mark share it and they have half each. I don't think Mark hears this and he proceeds to scoff the samosa. Dave watches him, like a hungry puppy, his eyes following the samosa - every bite!

Luke's curfew comes and goes, and we have drunk all the rider beer and wine. There is more on the van but noone can be bothered to trek and fetch it. So Luke ends up getting his way anyway! Or so he thinks ...

The gay bar around the corner doesn't close until stupid o'clock. And even then, the punters obviously love it so much they don't want to leave. Fiona and I listen to their conversations as they stand right outside our window. Snippets of 'but he doesn't love me', ' I know what I would say to him', ' really, you told him that'. It's like listening to a gay radio soap opera, except the reception isn't too good, so you only hear bits of it.

So much for the early night. And it's a long drive to York tomorrow. Maybe that should be Yawnk.

The Union Tour - 28/09/10 Edinburgh Cabaret Voltaire - Part 1

I like Edinburgh. It made an impression on me the first time I ever went, on one the Thunder tours. It's an imposing city, with big stone buildings and inclines.

On a smaller scale, the load-in for the Cabaret Voltaire is the same. Apparently it is the largest door step in Edinburgh. We know this because as the door is opened for us to do the load-in, a strange wench appears with about 10 people in tow and leads people up over the step, pronounces "this is the largest door step in Edinburgh" and they all troop off into the venue. No-one says anything. They disappear. And still, no-one says anything. It's weird, but obviously not that weird round these parts. It's only when I see next door is an office for Walking Tours that it becomes clear what just happened. Still, would have been nice if they had at least taken a case or two in with them.

The load in street is so narrow that parking adjacent to the venue is impossible, and even with Mark's clever angling, cars trying to pass start to panic and get it all wrong (wouldn't last five minutes in London - get a bus through there, love), and so we have to reverse it a way up the street and carry everything down the road a short distance, and over the GIANT doorstep.

The Cabaret Voltaire is a cool place, all brick vaulted ceilings and low lighting. It is tiny. And er .. the stage is tiny. Even with the extensions that the crew put up around the stage, it is still tiny. This is going to be a cosy one.

Marvellously, the merch stand proffered is the best seat in the house, slap bang behind the sound desk, raised up with a stonking view of the stage. Not so marvellously, yet again there is going to be a club night straight afterwards. I see the size of the sound system waiting to be BUILT after the show. It's gonna be LOUD. My ears are going to be broken. I will have to count T-shirts mega quick and just get out afterwards.

And talking of broken, the boxes for the T-shirts are looking pretty shabby already. We have already had a near disaster with the boxes of CD's and I have taken to only bringing in the essential boxes so they don't wear out too quickly! The decision is taken to decant everything into some plastic boxes, which annoyingly, I chose not to buy yesterday on my shopping trip. (ooh - maybe Edinburgh sells clip on spotlights!)

I head off to the shopping centre a mile away, only to get a phone call from Luke telling me there is a Poundstretcher literally round the corner from the venue. Grrr. But yay, they have boxes galore. And no spotlights. I disappointedly buy pegs for my new merchandise washing line to compensate.

T-shirts and CDs safely ensconced in new storage, which I also fashion into tables, this time, I remember to eat. OK, more sandwiches, but I'm so used to them now, it just seems the done thing.

The venue fills up quite quickly, thankfully, for first band on, The Amorettes, who have to be mentioned because they were excellent. They are a 3-piece all-girl band who sound like The Runaways meets early Motley Crue. They go down really well and soon sell out of the measly 6 CD's they bring with them. Me and Dave take a shine to Hannah, the drummer, but sadly the girls have to run off and catch their train so miss out on post-gig beers.

The boys as usual are excellent, and having such a fantastic view, it's a shame I don't have a better camera. Annoyingly, as with most of the venues on this tour, there is no phone signal, so I can't even tweet pics.

And as usual, it's raining for the get out. Sigh. and it might as well be thundering as the sound coming from the sound system is actually ear-splitting. It's mental at the club night, so I abandon counting and make a run for it.

The hotel is once again a Travelodge, in what appears to have once been a big old townhouse. In fact it is so cleverly disguised that we drive past it a few times before we notice a tiny Travelodge sign. The bar is also so cleverly disguised that it doesn't exist, and we end up in Mark and Chris's room which appears to be the size of a small playing field.

As we shout at each other from across the room, Mark announces that he wants a bath, only to find that there is no plug. Now Mark and I are the people that forget to eat. I feel like we are a team - the team that 'stay at the venue while the band go out gallivanting with VIPs'. I feel generous. I also feel a bit pissed and mellow, so volunteer to see if I can 'borrow' ours. Trekking down 2 flights of stairs, the bath plug proves to be a cinch and feeling quite chuffed I make it back upstairs and install it in the bath. Voila!

Mark then asks if anyone has any bubble bath. Er .... I do. Er ... downstairs. Sigh. I feel generous. I also feel a bit pissed and mellow. So down I go again to fetch the hotel sample I nicked from a South of France hotel. Posh stuff. That smells nice. That I was saving.

I feel generous. I also feel a bit pissed and mellow. So not only have I done a bit of bath plug DIY, and donated my albeit free, but coveted bath stuff, but I also RUN THE BATH. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I even went so far as to make sure there were bubbles.

Mark has a bath while we all carry on drinking.

Mark emerges from the bathroom.

And promptly complains that the bubble bath wasn't bubbly enough. (though agreed that it smelled nice) There's gratitude for you! :)

We are not done with Edinburgh yet, but that's for tomorrow ...

The Union Tour - 28/09/10 Edinburgh Cabaret Voltaire Part 2

It's not really much of a part 2, but it does need to be said. It's a late checkout thankfully, as like most nights, I don't get to bed before 3am. (It takes time to wind down after a gig, you know. Yes, I know it wasn't technically MY gig, but that's not the point!)

We are leaving the hotel at 12, and I was a bit tardy with the getting up business (I'm not drinking red wine again, I've decided) so clothes are everywhere while I pack, straighten my hair, all the usual things.

As is usual in these big townhouses, the radiators gurgle as they come on. I particularly like the fact that they are coming on in the morning, a long time after most people have got up, when it was pretty cold last night, and this is a hotel. Still, on they come.

And then ... there is another noise.

Is that a fizzing noise? What IS that?

More gurgling.

And then ... another fizzing noise.

I investigate.

"Er ... Fiona, we appear to have sprung a leak."

Oh yes, and not just one leak, but two. From the top two valves of the radiator are 2 steady, if tiny, streams of water. The carpet is already soaked, as obviously it took time for us to notice the leak. I am not dressed, so run around grabbing clothes while Fiona grabs her water bottle and tries to catch the leak. Thenkfull the water isn't really hot, but warm, and the leak has obviously happened as the radiators started to warm up. The water bottle is already filling alarmingly and the opening is too small to catch both streams of water, as they go in opposite directions.

I grab the kettle. Success. Fiona manoeuvres the kettle to catch both streams expertly in the kettle spout.

I finish getting dressed, and make to go downstairs to find someone. I think I can hear one of the maids outside, fantastic.

Just as I am about to go in search of said maid, Fiona informs me that the kettle is filling up. Some clever swappage of kettle to bottle takes place, so that I can then empty the kettle, then swap it back and THEN go and find the maid.

The maid, quite rightly panics, albeit in a sort of calm Eastern European way. She gives us a small bucket to catch the leak while she goes to find a solution. Fantastic, this will be much easier. Er ...

Fiona informs me that the bucket itself has now sprung a leak. This is just too much and after quickly swapping the kettle back, Fiona and I are unable to talk, for laughing. I then decide to film this escapade as it is just one of those things I will wish I had done, if I don't.

The maid returns with a radiator key and swiftly locks both valves. Fiona and I are still unable to really speak, as we explain to the maid about her cracked bucket. She apologises profusely, and I think looks at us suspiciously as we are still giggling.

I'm still giggling now.

And we STILL made the 12 o'clock set off!

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A little extra, 'specially for a wee Scottish laddie ...