Katy Setterfield And Friends In Concert

My lodgers were irritating me. There weren’t any bands I wanted to see playing in town this weekend, and there was nothing on television worth staying in and getting excited about. There was Dr Who of course, but thanks to a pal helping me install a ‘new to me’ wireless router on my computer I knew I could see it later on I-player. Life is short. You have to grab any chances for thrills and excitement that pass your way. Or go find them. It’s always later than you think it is. Otherwise you stagnate and become as dull, boring, and lifeless as others that surround you like zombies, dutifully adhering to set patterns of behaviour and convention.

“Here’s a little bit of advice
Your quite welcome it is free
Don’t do nothing that is cut price
You know what that’ll make you be
They will trick you with their device
Trap you with the ordinary
Get your teeth into a small slice
Of the cake of liberty”

Ian Dury And The Blockheads – ‘Sex And Drugs And Rock N Roll’

I needed a shot of Rock N Roll to save my soul.

Click For Story Soundtrack

I was going to see Adam Ant next Saturday. That was likely to be an interesting gig in more ways than one. I wondered who’d turn up ? My guess is I’ll be spotting some old faces I haven’t bumped into in years. Adam And The Ants were the first band I ever saw live. That was back in January 1982. The Prince Charming Review Tour. A lavish and over dramatic affair that involved at least three costume changes and a still unexplained dance routine. I couldn’t think of any other artist I’d seen since who made costume changes during their performance.

Oh wait, yes I could. The singer I met on the Ferryman’s Ship Of The Undead And Damned. A Dusty Springfield act that also did Cher, Annie Lennox, and Tina Turner songs. At the time I had no idea who she was. We got quite friendly on the ship because, as the Gods would have it, we shared the same dining table with the ships comic and the wines expert lecturer and his wife.

Like I say, I had no idea just who she was. Just a girl I’d called Kate. I watched the first show she did which opened with The Eurhythmics ‘Sweet Dreams’. At the end of the song,

"Anyone know which band Annie was in before The Eurythmics ?”

“The Tourists.”,

I’d called out. It had been one of the first 45rpm records I’d bought back in 1979. I’d loved that song. The lyrics just hooked themselves to my heart and Annie Lennox’s delivery was incredible. It was the first time I remember hearing about Dusty Springfield, although I later realised that out of the handful of songs that I liked and got to hear on my Aunt Sylvia’s radio during school holidays, Dusty Springfield was responsible for most of them.

“That’s right.”, Kate had continued, “Anyone know which Dusty Springfeild song she covered with The Tourists ?”

“I Only Want, To Be, With You.”, I’d replied jokularly.

“That’s right. That was back in 1980. My next show I’ll be doing the songs of Dusty Springfield …………”

Over drinks after the show I’d corrected her, and told her I’d like to see her with a band behind her. A few days later Kate performed her second show as Dusty Springfield and impressed me immensely with the sound and power of her vocal delivery even though she’d been suffering with a throat infection the last few days and had been shaking with nerves before performing.

When I got home I’d Google’d her name and given myself a shock. Back in January 2008 I’d been staring through the television trying to work out why I was feeling so unwell. I didn’t know it but before the years end I was going to have a quadruple heart by-pass. I’d been miles away from the room I was sitting in. Then I heard a girl singing a Dusty Springfield song. I came back into the room long enough to check out the performance. It was some kind of talent show. I hated talent shows. Cheap throw away Saturday night entertainment no one was really supposed to remember, but this girl could sing. Based on the competitors she had I bet myself the Dusty act would win the show, and I’d been right. I’d also forgotten all about it.

I nearly fell out of my seat when Google informed me that the Kate I’d met on holiday whilst taking some rest and relaxation was the same one I’d been dining and sipping McCallen’s malt whiskey with for the best part of a fortnight.

Now I really wanted to find out what she’d be like with a band behind her instead of backing tapes. I’d checked out her web site and saw that the nearest she was coming to my home town was Stockport and had decided I’d go check it out. Judging by her engagements list Kate was a busy girl. The Dusty Day event Sunday May 1st took my interest, but I knew I was going to be at the Icicle Works 30th Anniversary bash on the Saturday 30th April. I’d probably be hung over and in no fit state to travel all the way down to London next day. Besides, one of my lodger’s had hijacked me into a spontaneous trip to Amsterdam May 2nd to May 6th. Maybe I’d catch the show next year.

It was from coffee shop Softland on Spuistraat that I looked up YouTube to see if there was any coverage of Dusty Day. First try and top of the list was a clip of Kate singing Dusty with Madeline Bell. On returning home I hit Google for some gig reviews of the show. I found none. Not one, not anywhere. Then I stumbled across a couple of sites dedicated to Dusty Springfield. I reasoned that if I’d find a review of the gig anywhere it would be from one of the die hard Dusty nuts on one of the Dusty forums. I was half right. There were some pictures and some cross talk of folken who’d met up with each other, but as to any real review there was nothing.

Curious. Very curious.

When the lodger came home pissed up from a works night out and got me out of bed to open the door at 3:30am turned last Thursday and barked at me for asking how his night went I’d decided I wasn’t going to stay home this weekend. It was a big world out there and there had to be some way for me to kill the boredom of un-death and get myself into trouble for the hell of it.

Next morning I checked the listings for good bands but came up empty. I could do a night’s stop over if I needed to. I wouldn’t be missed and I would be missing nothing but bad language and shitty attitudes at home. I pulled up Kate’s site and checked through her listings. She was going to be playing some place called the Tivoli in Wimborne Saturday night, and she was going to have a band behind her.

I argued with myself about going. Where the hell was Wimborne anyway ? I pulled Google maps up and found it. Good Gods, it was all the way down south near Bournmouth. How far from Liverpool was that ? I didn’t know, but guessed there wouldn’t be much change from a six hundred mile round trip. That was a long way to go on a whim. Besides, at this short notice the show was probably sold out, and I doubted I could find a bed and breakfast with any ease. Likely the Dusty nuts would have them all booked up already. Maybe I should just wait until Stockport came up.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to ring this Tivoli place and see if there were any tickets left could it ? So I did, and was surprised to find the friendly voice on the other end of the phone had a ticket for me, if I wanted it. Ah what the hell. I booked a ticket. Now I had to find a B&B. I went through the listings and found a place called the Kings Head. I rang them. As I expected, no vacancies. Ah shit. It was looking like I’d be out on the price of a ticket and stuck here regardless. I went through the listings again and found a place called Gordon House. I rang them. Yes they had a room, would it be for one person or two ?

“Only if I’m lucky.”,

I quipped back at the girl on the phone good naturedly. Well you never knew, I might find myself meeting the love of my life at the gig. Stranger things can happen just that way. With the room booked I hit Google maps again to figure out where the hell I was going. Where was the Wimborne train station for a start, and how far was that from the Tivoli, and how far was the Tivoli from the room I just booked ?

Modern technology is wonderful. Say what you like about Google invading privacy but when it comes to planning a trip like this to somewhere you’ve never been it really does make life easier. There was no train station in Wimborne, but there was a bus station. The bus station was in the town square, right across the road from the Kings Head, which was literally down the road from the Tivoli. Gordon House was a little further down the same street.

Well shit, it looked like the Gods were looking after me again. Now all I had to do was figure out where I could get a train to and how to get from there to Wimborne.

“Hey where you goin’ ?
You don’t know do you ?
Hey where you goin’ ?
You don’t know do you ?
I’m a goin’ places to have some fun
I ain’t comin’ back until the whole thing’s done

Well all my life I’ve been held down
When I want to party seems the whole world frowns
I’m all beat up and kind of run down
If I don’t get to jag I come unwound

Hey where you goin’ ?
You don’t know do you ?
Hey where you goin’ ?
You don’t know do you ?
I’m a goin’ places to have some fun
I ain’t comin’ back until the whole thing’s done

You can call me crazy
But I don’t care
I’m going to live it up while I’m still here
I have no future I’m the quiet type
I sleep all day and I howl all night

Hey where you goin’ ?
You don’t know do you ?
Hey where you goin’ ?
You don’t know do you ?
I’m a goin’ places to have some fun
I ain’t comin’ back until the whole thing’s done

Frankie Miller – ‘Hey Where You Goin’

The alarm went off at 5:00am. I put myself through the shower and drank some tea while I put a few bits in a bag for an over night stay. The taxi arrived on time and got me to Lime Street for 6:45am. I took a coffee and flicked through a paper in the twenty four hour café before getting on the train which set off on time at 7:19am. I changed at Stafford and dozed until I reached Bournemouth. I found the right bus, No.13, and made Wimborne by around 1:30pm.

So this was Wimborne Square. I checked the Sunday service time table. From behind me one teenager remarked to his pal,

“Wow, check out this cool dude.”

That old internationally infamous leather of mine. It’s battered and worn, patched, held together by studs, and people just seem to love it. Satisfied I had the times committed to memory I stepped across the road and into the Kings Head. I was ready for a pint after the long journey. I was hungry too. My presence in the establishment seemingly unsettled the bar staff. I don’t think they were used to serving grizzly old rockers. The meal I ordered arrived at almost the speed of lightning. It was a chicken, bacon, and goats cheese combination jobby which I rather enjoyed despite the over inflated price they charged for it.

A little after 2:30pm I took a wrong turn on the way back from the toilet and ended up outside in some sort of courtyard affair. It was time I picked up my ticket from the Tivoli and checked into my B&B anyway. I lit up a Cohiba and ventured out the courtyard and into the street at the side of the pub. I was standing outside the Tivoli before I got half way down my smoke. It hadn’t looked this close on Google. I picked up my ticket and stepped outside lighting up my smoke again figuring that I’d finish it long before I found Gordon House. I took a pull and exhaled looking up and down the street checking the Saturday downtown in Wimborne scene and glanced across the road. I did a double take. There was Gordon House, right across the road.

If I’d have tried to plan it this way I’d never have done it. Maybe the Gods really were looking after me.

I crossed the road and hung around the gatepost until I finished my smoke. The room I’d booked was rather lovely. There were two beds, my own bathroom, tea and coffee making facilities, a television, and even a hair dryer. This was better than the place I stayed at in Amsterdam a couple of weeks back. It was cheaper too. I stretched out on the bed for a couple of hours taking some of the kinks out of my back.

Room With A View

Just before 5:00pm my phone rang. It was my other lodger wondering where I was and would I be in for Dr Who ?

“I’m in Wimborne.”

“Where ?”

“Wimbourne, about an hours ride by bus from Bournmouth.”

“Yer wo’ ? That’s down south isn’t it ? What are you doing there ? I thought you were going to that gig in Liverpool tonight.”

“Adam Ant ? That’s next week.”

“When did you go down there ? What’s down there ?”

“This morning. A band I want to see.”

“Oh, alright then. When you back ?”

“I should be back around tea time tomorrow.”

“Oh, O.K., er, see you tomorrow then.”

“Yup. See ya tomorrow. Later mate.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow.”

I lay there a few minutes longer enjoying a relaxing stretch. A couple of bones in my back popped back into place. Nice. I took a shower, popped a couple of pain killers for my back, rolled a couple to go, and headed back to the Kings Head for another feed. I ordered the fish and chips,

“Any chance of grilling the fish instead of battering it man ?”

“Er, yes, er, that should be O.K.. Would you like garden peas or mushy peas ?”

“Ooooh, choices. Mushy please.”

I sat down at a table and was but a few sips into my first cider when my meal arrived.

“Wow, that was quick.”

It was a nice meal, a decent bit of fish though slightly under done to my mind and the chips were rather dry. It was way over priced for what it was. My guess was everything had been pre-made and was just being micro zapped or something very similar. Evidently I was in what passed for Wimborne’s ‘society’ venue. I’d noticed the Conservative Club’s big sign on the way into the square on the bus coming in. No doubt there were a lot of blue blood’s down this neck of the woods, perhaps I should have worn my ‘Only Stupid Bastards Voted Tory’ T-shirt. I could tell they’d all have loved that. News of a studded leather clad Scouse rocker would likely be doing the rounds of the jungle drums before morning in a place like this. Just imagine if I’d landed in the square in that t-shirt. It’d be like a cut scene from the end of the James Whale Universal Pictures ‘Frankenstein’. No doubt there would have been a mob with burning torches and hemp neck ties by sunset gathered outside the B&B screaming for the blood of the heathen northerner. Gods, if they found out I was a genuine certificated minister of the ‘old religion’ of these isle’s they’d be out there building bonfires around trees and selling baked potatoes.

‘Ah, infamy. Infamy. They’ve all got it in for me.’

I took a second pint wondering if I might regret doing so before leaving and wandering down to the back of the Minster for a quiet after dinner smoke. Wimborne was a quaint little market town. Maybe I should think about stopping over another night so I could have a proper wander about tomorrow. I’d see how I felt when I woke up. Strolling back up towards the Tivoli and taking a different route to the one that had got me to the back of the Minster I passed a pub called the White Hart. It looked more like the sort of place I’d be more at home at. Maybe I’d come have a pint here after the show.

Up at the Tivoli folken were drifting in in ones and two’s. I wondered if the show had sold out since yesterday. I was expecting a queue of some kind but there was none to speak of. I found my seat, or thought I had. The lady on the phone had said row H seat 20 was an aisle seat. I found it and sat down. A shocked looking woman in her mid fifties in the next seat started with shock.

“I think your in the wrong seat. This is my husbands seat and he’s only not in it because he’s just there talking.”

“Really ? This is row H right ? Oh maybe it’s the other side then. The lady on the phone said it was an aisle seat.”,

I said fishing in my back pocket for my ticket.

“I’ll go check. Sorry luv.”

She gave me a disquietened look and a wan smile glancing in her husbands direction for reassurance. I found an usher and was directed to row H, but on the right. Not an aisle seat at all but the middle seat of five. Presently I was the only occupant of my row and the row in front. Talk about standing out like a sore thumb. Right out there, in the middle of nowhere.

Gods I hoped the people in front turned up. Presently they did, but I was still the only occupant of my row. In a crowd where the average age seemed around fifty seven and the gig going fashion seemed to be party frocks, sensible shirt and trousers, and shiny brown shoes, the forty something studded leather rocker from Liverpool could hardly be missed, especially out here in a small town English graveyard like this. Oh Gods, well, it was a lot better than listening to Roger The Lodger berate everything and everyone as he consumed his standard Saturday night case of beer. Better still, if my old school pal that lived around the corner rang me to aid him again with his father I’d have a ready made excuse why I couldn’t.

I’d returned from Amsterdam flying at an altitude far higher than the plane and gone straight to the pub. Consequently I’d been rather delicate the following day. I’d just started pulling myself together and recommenced myself on solid food when at 10:30pm my pal rang me in a panic. His dad was drunk insensible and had shit on the bend in the staircase. When I got there the old man was wandering around the house in only a pyjama top beshitted from the waist down and was leaving a trail of devastation behind him into the lounge. My friend was beside himself, half cut, and entirely out of his depth in the circumstances. The stairs and landing looked like they’d been hit by a donkey with dysentery.

While he concentrated on tackling the mess on the stairs, almost adding to it himself by near throwing up, I managed the old boy into the shower and hosed him down. What kind of life was I leading ?

‘Minister and care giver’ it said on my certificate.

It was in the job title I supposed. Well that wouldn’t be happening this Saturday night and that was sure. A couple of women around the twilight forties mark, give or take a couple years, filled in the two seats on my left.

“Those won’t pull on my jersey will they ?”,

one of them asked me nervously pointing at the studs bristling along my left arm.

“No luv, your safe. They aren’t as sharp as they might look, and I don’t bite.”

I replied giving out my best friendly smile. It didn’t seem to help. She and her pal remained wary of me like I was some kind of wild beast that might any moment take the fancy to tear out their throats werewolf style. I made an attempt at small talk to try putting them more at ease,

“Have you seen her before ?”

“No. Have you ?”

“Yeah. I saw her on a cruise ship but she only had backing tapes. I told her I’d like to see her with a band behind her, and now I am.”

“She does other people too doesn’t she ?”

“Yeah, she does Cher, Annie Lennox, and Tina Turner. If I guess right she’ll start off with Annie, go into Cher, Tina Turner, and then the second half will be all Dusty. That’s how she did it when I saw her on the ship anyway.”

The brief exchange seemed to have worked. The two women had relaxed some, but they were still viewing me as a thourghly dangerous entity. Oh well, I’d tried.

“Now I’m the kind of guy who keeps his big mouth shut
Don’t bother me
Someone give me one arm up
Leave me in misery
I never shot nobody
Don’t even carry a gun
I ain’t done nothing wrong
I’m just having fun.”

AC/DC – ‘Riff Raff’

The place had certainly filled up in the few minutes I’d been sat there. Where they were all coming from bemused me. Out on the streets of downtown Wimborne I’d seen no signs of a crowd, heavier than normal traffic, or the hap hazardly parked vehicles that usually marked such events. Maybe Dr Who had brought them. It was a full house anyway. Apart that is from the two seats on my right. The house lights went down.

Kate was introduced to us as Dusty Springfield. She was backed by guitar, bass, drums and keyboard. There was also some limited use of backing tapes for the horns section. They immediately launched into ‘I Only Want to Be With You’ and without pause or drop of a beat continued into a blistering rendition of ‘Stay Awhile’. Kate was belting out the lyrics and the band were in full swing but I noticed two problems straight off. Firstly who ever the sound guy was needed his bollocks roasting because the sound I was getting was awful. It sounded like the right hand speaker might have blown. It was rumbling, fuzzing, distorting, and bleeding out the sound like a goat farting in the fog after a dodgy curry and a night on the farmer’s scrumpy.

The other problem was Kate’s voice. It sounded like she had a cold.

They finished ‘Stay Awhile’ and Kate went into a well rehearsed self parodying banter about winning the ‘One And Only’ television contest before somebody made her aware there was a problem,

“It’s what ? Ladies and Gentlemen, have we got a problem ? Is it the sound ? I can’t hear a thing up here. It is isn’t it ? What can I say, I’m sorry. We’ll be right back as soon as we get it sorted out. See you in a couple of minutes.”

With that the band left the stage and the curtain came down.

I could just imagine what was going on back stage. Kate would likely be fuming. I’d seen first hand how badly entertainer’s temperament effected her. She’d been shaking with nerves all day before performing her Dusty set on the ship. To walk onto a stage and have to leave it because the sound was bad was every performer and musician’s nightmare. It looked unprofessional.

I’d seen this happen before to other bands over the years. Most memorably to The Mission as they went into their encore at the Hillsborough Benefit gig April 1989. The speaker system suddenly emitted a shower of sparks like a fireworks display that most of us in the audience thought was part of the show until the sound went dead and a roadie started jumping around with a fire extinguisher. A huge good natured cheer sprang up from the crowd when they realised what had actually happened, and I think we all started to continue singing the song the band had been playing until they got the power back. That had been a Saturday.

At the after show party at Planet-X I’d been kept in beer by Pete Wylie (The Mighty Wah !) because I was the only person in the bar with a box of matches to light his and Mic Jones (of The clash) roll ups with. Wayne Hussey was floating about and said hello. The last time I’d seen him there I’d ended up throwing him down the back stairs. Everything went well though that night and I interviewed Wayne for Ultra Motive magazine a few years later.

Then there was the time I went to see Dead Men Walking, minus Pete Wylie, but plus Slim Jim Phantom of Stray Cats and Billy Duffy of The Cult. During the show there was a constant buzz emitting somewhere from the sound system. A song or two into the second half of the show frustration got the better of Billy Duffy. Stopping the show to speak to the sound man,

“You hear that whistling ? Well it shouldn’t fucking be there.”

This was greeted by applause from the crowd who for the last couple of songs had been watching Billy become increasingly frustrated with his guitar sound. The whistle got sorted but the sound was still not right and Billy remained seriously vexed about it for the whole gig. It was my guess that the guy on the sound desk took some serious ear ache later after the show and I was guessing some poor bugger was getting it right in the neck this very moment backstage. I’d have rather tackled a hungry lion than tackle Kate on the war path.

What stuck me as odd was that the band couldn’t hear themselves on stage. That either meant the stage monitors were fucked up, or there were no stage monitors. A couple of lads in black t-shirts ran up and down the aisle past me between the stage and sound desk with pained expressions. A good five minutes ticked by then the house lights went down and the curtain came up. Kate took up where she’d left off with her ‘One And Only’ rap.

“…. and guess what ? I only went and won it didn’t I. I mean me, a girl from Watford.”

Hell, Watford had to be good for something besides the Tory government disowning what was North of it. I’d heard this patter before. It hadn’t changed a jot from the spiel I’d heard on the ship. A practiced and well rehearsed professional routine, but it occurred to me that three years on from the 'One And Only' show that it was getting a little stretched and wouldn’t have been hurt by a bit of updating.

The band launched into ‘Little By Little’. They were doing a fast tempo rendition that should have sounded great. Kate’s voice was full and forceful, but the sound from the right hand speaker was still shockingly horrendous. Just past half way through the song Kate and the band became aware there was still a problem. Kate’s game face slipped for a second and a look of pure frustration flashed across her face before the performers mask resurfaced. They finished the song like professionals before,

“Have we still got problems ? We have haven’t we. Ladies and gentleman what can I say. I’m really sorry from the bottom of my heart. It’s not my fault. We’ll be back just as soon as we can.”

The band left the stage again.

That she was sorry from the bottom of her heart about this poor start I really believed. I knew how seriously she took performing. For a second there it looked like Kate was near the point of tears. It may have been the lights but I thought she looked a little pale too. I hoped the sound problems wouldn’t corrode her self confidence. The boys in the black t-shirts ran back and forth from sound desk to backstage for around twenty minutes. We all sat patiently waiting.

“You’d think they’d have checked the sound before coming on wouldn’t you ?”,

said the lady on my left breaking my backstage visions of bad language and air borne projectiles. She sounded like she’d got over her nervousness about sitting next to this dangerous leather studded desperado from the abominable outlaw territories of the North.

“Yeah. They probably did. This sort of thing can just happen though. All it takes is the wrong thing turned up too loud for a second to blow a speaker. I’ve seen it happen before. It could be a crossed wire somewhere judging from the distorted, bleeding, sound. Or it could be a couple of cables touching together that shouldn’t be.”

It was around then that that second pint started to gain pressing weight in my bladder. I knew I shouldn’t have had it. Now I was faced with either staying where I was and boiling it, or taking the chance that the sound crew would be buggering around backstage for another three minutes at least. The last thing I wanted was to have to find my way back to my seat after the band came back on stage but there was no way I’d last a whole hour. Besides I’ve noticed a startling connection between loss of hearing and a full bladder. Hmmm. I’d have to chance it. I excused myself to the ladies and shot off to find the gents.

I found it, and rather nice it was too for such things as Rock N Roll utilities. There were nice old porcelain full length urinals that put me in mind of the Philharmonic’s listed Victorian toilets back in Liverpool. The place was clean, tidy, and there wasn’t a spot of misaimed piss on the floor to unexpectedly slide on. No stench emitting from the traps behind me or bits of bog roll littering the floor along with the spilt makings of craftily furnished spliffs. No dicks drawn on the walls along with the ‘John wuz ere 2011’, and I didn’t need Moses to help me navigate safe passage back to the door.

I rather enjoyed the relief I was taking. My backstage visions were returning. For some reason I suddenly got the feeling things hadn’t quite gone according to plan at last nights gig in Malvern either. It was an odd thought, but it was there just the same.

I shook it off, and headed back into the auditorium. I should have known what to expect. I’d already seen it, some of it anyway, in a precognition on the train before changing at Stafford. Kate and the band were already back on stage and half way into a song.

Bollocks.

That meant I’d have to try sneaking back to my seat before too many folken clocked me coming down the aisle and thought I was part of the show. I stood out in this crowd like an erection in a convent. I ran down the aisle bent over hoping to get away with pretending to be one of the backstage boys and that I’d get into my seat before I drew any attention. That was my plan at least.

Unfortunately I over shot my row and realising I’d done so had the effect of giving me a rabbit in the headlights blind panic trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to be. The two ladies sat next to me began waving at me from three rows back up the aisle, and oh Gods, some of the others in the rows in front, behind, and to the side of them started joining in.

Ah shit !

So much for my low profile plan. I darted up the aisle and took my seat as swiftly as the Gods allowed me to, covered all over in embarrassment. There seemed little chance that I’d been missed from the stage. I shrank in my seat hoping that I wouldn’t have the living piss ripped out of me come the end of the song in the manner other performers I’ve seen are apt to do. Everyone has a good laugh at the poor sods expense, but it usually breaks any remaining ice between the performers and their audience. I thought I caught Kate smirking between delivering her lines on perfect cue. The sound crew had evidently gotten their respective shit together.

The band finished the song. I held my breath cringing, but Kate simply went on where she had left off before the sound troubles.

“Well it looks as though were going to run a bit late tonight. You don’t mind though do you ?”,

she asked us. A firm response in the negative affirmed her presumption. I didn’t mind if she played long past midnight. I only had to cross the road to go to bed. Gods, how fortunate had I been in landing that place ? I’d never have been able to do it if I’d planned on it. I’d have probably landed some place out in the middle of nowhere a half hours hike away through sheep shit. In the rain.

On stage Kate was talking about Carol King and went into a two song medley. The first song I didn’t recognise but the second one was ‘San Jose’. You wouldn’t have known it by her professional patter but during the songs I could see Kate looked a little jittery. It looked like she was wrestling with something mentally. Then some of her notes sounded a little off key. It was clear to me she was suffering with a cold. A singer’s worst nightmare.

Finishing the song with her end pose Kate stayed where she was a moment or two longer than she needed to. She seemed to be using the pause as a breathing and settling space. The next song was ‘I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’. As she sang it seemed she resolved whatever was bothering her and her voice grew stronger and more vibrant. Kate started hitting all the right notes again and sounded strong. She seemed to be finding herself again.

The next song was ‘Going Back’. A song I’d first fell in love with via the Icicle Works. During the show I caught before going to Amsterdam they had played it. The crowd had loved it. Unfortunately Kate’s cold was really beginning to effect her voice which began to crack and break on a few notes. She continued regardless battling through as only a true professional can but that air of distractedness had crept back into her voice too. The hoarse huskiness of her vocals betrayed her underlying physical condition. Kate had been knackered before she started tonight. Life on the road and that cold of hers were evidently taking their toll. She was beginning to really hurt up there.

She took another of those long pauses before going into another two song medley. Again I didn’t recognise the first song, but I was a little distracted myself. I’d been checking out the backing band. Whoever the drummer was he was great. He was absolutely faultless. The Keyboard player wasn’t bad either. The hippy on the bass anchored down the sound in just the way he should have, but the guitarist ….

I cleaned my glasses and checked again. The guitarist seemed to be reading his guitar parts from a music stand on occasions. It hadn’t escaped my attention that his guitar was a little low in the over all sound mix either. The guy looked like he was a jobbing musician. I’m not saying he sounded bad or couldn’t play, but there were no moments of spontaneity, style, or flair, and I couldn’t help thinking the guy that sits outside Marks & Spencer in Church Street with his guide dog would leave this guy way behind in a battle of the banjo’s. He needed a haircut too.

The other thing I noticed was the chemistry between the band members. I couldn’t see the drummers face behind his kit, nor the keyboardist because of the angle I was seated at, but the bass player looked glum, and the guitarist seemed to be in a world of his own. The usual spark and banter on stage I’m more familiar with seeing at gigs seemed absent. Maybe it was just the shaky start and the bad sound that had dampened their spirits.

The second song was ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow’. A song I’d first heard on my Aunt Sylvia’s radio on the Billy Butler show. Like The Tourists version of ‘I Only Want To Be With You’ would later do, the song had instantly struck some cord within me. I couldn’t have been more than about eight years old, but I loved the lyrics, and understood them better than any eight year old should have done.

Funnily enough since returning home from the ship I’d been indulging myself with tomb raiding on YouTube. My interest in siren singers had been rekindled. I’d found myself delving through old classics that hadn’t seen the light of the full moon in decades. I’d become a huge Etta James fan, discovered a blues artist called Katie Webster, pulled up The Ronettes, The Supremes, Billie Holiday, Helen Humes, Shirley Bassey (one of my mothers favourite artists, and one of the few she got to see sing), I’d discovered Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Imelda May, an amazing rendition of ‘When He Kissed Me’/’Be My Baby’ by Rachel Sweet, and gone out and bought albums by The Shangri-La’s, The Chiffons, Dusty Springfield, and a slew of Blues, Rockabilly, and Rock N Roll artists. One of the tunes I’d pulled up whilst tomb raiding was that song I’d heard way back in Sylvia’s kitchen with the Wavertree sun streaming through the window at a sharp angle from over the back wall of the entry while I dried our lunch plates. The Shirelles ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow’.

Late one night as winter was beginning to bite in I’d sat pulling on a rolled one listening to the tune on YouTube whilst sipping Jameson with a coffee and speculating how easily Kate would manage to cover it. So you can imagine I had a bit of a surprise that I was actually hearing her do so. I’d been right about it just the same. She did it beautifully. How did the song go ?

“Be careful what you dream of
It may come up and surprise you”

The Icicle Works – ‘Hollow Horse’

It was unnerving how often my dreams did just that. Thrice that day that I could count. Kate’s delivery of this song was brilliant although her voice caught on a couple of notes. The crowd loved it. She followed it up with ‘How Can I Be Sure’. Again that cold of hers was interfering on a couple of notes, but it wasn’t enough to spoil the performance. She took another of those long stance poses.

It seemed to me that she was using the time to pull herself together before summoning the energy to get her through the next song, and shake loose of her own self criticism. She was definitely hurting up there. Her nerves began to rise under the surface of her game face. Kate went on to ‘Son Of A Preacher Man’ but she was clearly struggling. That magic voice of hers was deep and overly husky catching occasionally on the odd note. This time the end stance stretched out to a pregnant moment.

Reanimating and gathering herself as she spoke,

“As you can probably tell I’ve got rather a nasty cold. O.K., so this next song, this song means a lot to me. The first time I sang it it was a new song for me that I didn’t know very well. I sang it for the first time in front of eleven million people on live television for ‘The One And Only’, and do you know what ? My votes went up by a million afterwards.

The thing is I fell in love with this song during the show. The lyrics always mean something to me every time I sing it, and they always mean something different to me every time I do it. But the thing is about this song is that it has this impossibly long note at the end of it. So I’m going to need your help tonight, because I need lots of encouragement, and last night, last night I didn’t quite get enough encouragement did I boys ?”,

she said briefly turning to look at the band. The Bass player shook his head, gave a wry smile, and found something interesting to stare at by his shoes.

Damn. It looked like I was right again.

“So ladies and gentlemen please give me a lot of encouragement tonight because I really need it. This is ‘All I See Is You’.

On the boat she’d raised the roof with this song. Could she do it tonight ? The odds were a little better than fifty fifty. It was a real tough one to get right but I knew she would give it an all out all or nothing effort. It was all about believing. All Kate had to do was believe she could do it. She might know she could, but knowing and believing are two different things.

The song began. Kate’s voice was holding up but she was starting softly and as she sang through the lyrics I could hear it climbing in strength and surety. She was pacing herself for that long, long, ever so long note at the end. The song began building and by the time we got to,

“… your there in every dream that I’ve ever dreamed ….”

her voice began to hit those delicious notes just as they were supposed to. She began sounding more vibrant, rich, and full. The song built in its intensity. Gearing itself slowly up note by note. We got to,

“… I see you still.”,

and she hit that note right on the nail. The crowd were with her, willing her on. With every note she continued to hit right the crowd became more enamoured, yearning for her to come through. We were into the finale of the song now. Her voice was holding, climbing along with the music, she was hitting those high notes and making it sound like it was easy,

“… so until the day, when you are back with me to stay, in every way …”,

she was making it,

“ … all I see is yooooou.”

That last note rang out clear and strong like the voice of a Goddess. She nailed that long note right the way through the stage to Australia and she was louder than the speaker system. The power of her voice resonated through the very beams of the place, penetrating into the plaster and brick. The crowd were applauding furiously and didn’t stop for a very long time. Kate giggled a little thanking the crowd for their support before leaving the stage briefly, leaving the band playing, returning in a glitzy short dress. Again I didn’t recognise the first song she took up with but if I were to guess I’d say it was something called ‘Get Ready’ though likely I’m wrong.

“I suppose your wondering why I’m wearing this glittery dress while I’m still dressed as Dusty, well sort of like Dusty. Well Dusty was a big fan of Motown and she brought across a number of artists …. “

Kate ran through a brief list that included The Supremes. The band struck up with ‘Dancing In The Street’. Kate’s voice caught on some of the notes. The effort of ‘All I See’ had stretched those golden tonsils of hers to breaking point. Her voice began to crack and catch, fading out hoarsely and unexpectedly on the end of words. She’d put all she had into that long note and it had drained her. She was like a car running on empty fumes to the filling station. The intermission wasn’t going to come soon enough for her. Kate hung in there though, battling fatigue, her cold, her self criticism, and the notes she was aiming to reach with the grim determination of a true professional.

The song finished and Kate was a long way from pleased with herself with how it had gone. You’d never have known it though from the way she introduced the next song. That game face of hers was holding strong under the lights. It was another song I hadn’t expected to hear. Another one I loved, but could barley listen too these days. It was one of those songs that you climbed right inside of and understand from experience. Kate was singing it straight out from the heart. With effort I noted, she got it just right. For a bunch of old timers, the audience went nuts. The song was ‘What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted’.

Then came that much needed intermission. The tiny bar looked absolutely rammed. I decided to give it a miss and stepped outside to smoke a Mehari Sweet. I scribbled a few notes and the set list while I was out there. A few old boys milled about outside noticeably crowding together on the opposite side of the door to where I was standing puffing away on their respective smoking material of choice. Out the corner of my eye I could see them weighing up this leather clad rocker warily. Curiosity was eating them alive, but they just didn’t quite dare to speak to me.

I wondered how Kate was doing backstage. I hoped and expected that one of the boys in the band was sorting her out with a large port brandy that I knew she was partial too. Gods knew, she could really use one tonight. Probably a valium too by the time she was finished. I popped a couple more pain killers and headed in to the bar. A couple of boys in their mid fifties at the bar eyed me with suspicious curiosity. They finished getting served and withdrew from the bar not quite certain where they were going.

A lady clocking the sixty mark came to serve me, her pal behind the bar moved behind her using her as a barrier to avoid coming within any range of where I stood.

“Hello luv. You got any Bulmer’s in the house ?”

“No sorry, but we’ve got Magners.”

I was sure I recognised that voice. This was who I must have booked my ticket with over the phone.

“Magner’s it is then luv.”

“Do you want ice with it ?”

“Just a little bit.”

“I ask because some people like half the glass filled. Some of them like it filled right up.”

“Yeah I know. I can’t understand it. It waters down the cider and gets in the way of drinking it. I often walk into places where they don’t ask and give me the half full glass of ice. I have to tell them to tip most of it out.”

With slow and steady deliberation she reached for a glass and a bottle, taking time to pour the pint for me slowly so it didn’t fizz. I watched her doing it slightly amused and a little thrilled to be served properly for the fist time in so long I couldn’t bring to mind. She almost got the whole bottle into the glass.

“Thanks luv. That’s almost perfect.”

“Oh we get them coming in here pouring it themselves and end up wearing it because they pour it too quick and it all fizzes out the glass.”

I laughed,

“Yer, I’ve seen ‘em do it. Shame about the sound at the start tonight.”

“Yes. It was their system at fault not ours. Ours is far superior. I don’t think they quite made that clear.”

I ginned checking out the name tag that said Maggie,

“I’ll quote you on that.”

Just then the first bell sounded. I drained my glass and was stepping through back into the auditorium before it rang the second time. Sod trying to find my seat in the dark a second time tonight.

I wondered again how Kate was backstage. If I guessed right she’d be shaking with nerves, cursing herself about how she sounded tonight, and praying she could find the strength to finish the show. No doubt she’d want to run from this gig and put it behind her just as quick as physically possible. What she needed was putting to bed with a drop of warm brandy and staying there for a couple of days. A good rub down by my masseur wouldn’t have hurt her either. That girl was ragged from the inside out. I hoped the rest of the audience were as sympathetic and understanding. Given the age of them they should be, though I doubted few of them knew just how life on the road could get to you. Especially if an artiste had any personal hurdles to jump.

The two ladies seated on my left returned just a minute or two before the lights went down and the curtain rose.

“I found my seat this time.”,

I quipped. The pair of them broke up giggling. All was well there then.

Kate was introduced as Cher and came strutting onto the stage in a seductive and revealing body stocking, thigh high high heels, and a little jacket like she hadn’t a care in the world. The first song was ‘In His Kiss’. Her voice though sounded dreadful. Every high note was hit or miss. That golden voice of hers was shot. She was croaking, breaking up on notes, giving out and fading where she shouldn’t. There was no hiding the fact that she was struggling up there and hurting badly. She battled on regardless putting the effort into her performance and playing with the audience as she peeled the little jacket over one shoulder in mock seduction, finally peeling off to a restrained ‘men with their wives’ approval.

“Well those who know me know I like a little glass of wine between sets, but he didn’t buy me one.”

Gods, had no one thought to get the girl a drink ? Hadn’t one of the boys in the band had at least that much sense ? Or the Tivoli staff come to that ? I wished I’d sent her one myself now, but I’d been sure someone else would have had the good sense to cover that one. It was a standard Rock ‘N’ Roll procedure. Gods, no wonder her voice was so bad. Her throat must have been dryer than sand paper.

Kate was talking some about Cher and her recordings but I missed most of it still stunned that no one, not even the Dusty nut Superfan’s, had got the girl a drink during the break. In my book that was an abominable crime against art.

“ ……… I’m not doing ‘I Got You Babe’. It’s a duet anyway, and I don’t have a Sonny.”

So, she’d done it then. That was three since I’d got off the ship, including the girl who’d given me a ride home from the sumptuous and lavish environment of Langton Dock.

Langton Docks Liverpool

Kate performed ‘Gypsies Tramps And Thieves’ before finishing the Cher set with ‘Turn Back Time’. There was no varnishing over the fact that she sounded bad. Her voice was all over the place fitting where it touched and she’d given up trying to hide it. She began to pull it back for that last one though. I could just imagine how she was cringing inwardly and mentally self flagellating, but she was still giving it all she had. I just hoped she could come back by pulling off Annie Lennox. The deeper bassier voice tones would be easier for her to reach.

She finished the song and left the stage to change. The band played on. Another track I couldn’t put my finger on but containing a lyric about being, “the baddest bitch”. Without stopping they went right into the intro to ‘Sweet Dreams’. Kate returned to the stage as Annie Lennox. I’d been right about those bass tones. Bar a couple of notes she was perfect. I knew what was coming at the end of the track, but would she remember what I’d told her on the back deck of Hampton’s Bar over an after show McCallen’s ?

“Can anyone tell me what band Annie was in before The Eurythmics ? ……. The Tourists, yes that’s right. Can any of you tell me which song was her first hit ? ……. Yes, that’s it. ‘I Only Want To Be With You’, and no I’m not singing it again. Well that was back in nineteen seventy ………….”

Come on, say nine.

“…. eight, and ………….”

No she hadn’t. The Tourists became The Tourists in 1977, but their cover of Dusty’s ‘I Only Want To Be With You’ stormed the charts in 1979.

The Tourists - ‘I Only Want To Be With You’ 1979.

It was one of the first records I bought. At the age of twelve I was going through my first heartbreak over a girl of fourteen and my first tentative grip of a woman. That version of the song had cut through me like a razor and gladdened my heart to know someone else knew how I’d been feeling. At least she hadn’t said 1980 like she had on the ship. That had been the follow up ‘So Good To Be Back Home’.

Yeah, alright I’m being a picky bastard, but this shit is life’s very blood to some of us, and marks our individual mile stones in the wake we leave behind.

On stage Kate was building up to doing the big song of the Annie set, ‘Why’.

“………… and like a lot of us girls, and a lot of the best singers, she eventually went solo.”,

she said mischievously looking over her shoulder at the band.

Out of all the songs Annie Lennox has done it was one of the ones I liked least. I wondered why Kate hadn’t chosen something more up tempo like ‘Missionary Man’, 'Chill In My Heart’, ‘When Tomorrow Comes’, or ‘It’s Alright’ which I could imagine her carrying off with ease. True ‘Why’ did show off Annie’s vocal skills and landed her great acclaim but I just didn’t like the song. Would Kate manage to pull this one off ?

It was stupid of me to wonder otherwise. With the Gods mercy, accompanied only by the keyboard, her voice didn’t just hold up but rang out clear and true drawing huge applause and the first spontaneous commentary of the night. Next up was ‘Sisters Doing It For Themselves’. This was the only song of the set I thought should be dropped. It’s dated and way out of context for most of the old ducks that were here. My guess was most of them though ‘Girl Power !’ had something to do with elbow grease or paying their domestic’s. Still, it went down well enough before Kate left the stage again to change.

The band kept playing and Kate quickly reappeared as Tina Turner singing ‘Simply The Best’. There was no attempt at a straight performance. This was a strictly parody routine to give everyone a giggle, and it worked. When she told us it was the end of the show the crowd went bug out nuts giving her a standing ovation. After the applause finally subsided,

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so very much. You’ve been wonderful tonight. Thank you. Do you mind if I do something I’ve been wanting to do since twenty five past seven tonight. Do you mind ? Well we don’t know what it is Katy. ………… Do you mind if I take my wig off ?”

With that she pulled off her Tina wig hat and tossed it over to the bass player who put it on.

“You don’t look any different. Ladies and gentlemen, come on, tell me. Do you think this man needs a haircut ?”

“Yes.”, came an emphatic response from the crowd.

“What about this guy over here ?”,

she said pointing out the guitarist.

“Do you think he needs one as well ?”

A much louder ‘yes’ rose up from those seated.

Kate then went on to tell us a story about meeting Bet Midler at Cesar’s Palace in Las Vegas after winning the ‘One And Only’ show. Then she went into a little Bet Midler melody ending with ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. As she finished and the crowd went ape shit she sank to the floor of the stage in a way I wasn’t convinced was all act. This had been one hell of a tough gig for her and she’d been running on empty since the break. She was past shattered and into the realms of serious fatigue if I was any judge, and being the victim of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (M.E.) myself for the last fifteen years that I’d actually been diagnosed I figured I was qualified.

She thanked us again for our support and left the stage, the band following suit. Whether or not she’d been prepared for doing one more song or not I couldn’t tell, but I do know most professionals usually have one last song ready to go if they decide to use it. A second standing ovation, loud applause, and cheers that simply didn’t stop returned her to the stage one last time.

Kate gave us ‘You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me’ ending the song sitting on the edge of the stage. When she finished the applause were rapturous. I was glad for her. I knew she’d likely be kicking herself all the way to the next show in Spain, disappointed in her own vocal performance, but it seemed the majority of this audience had enough empathy in them to understand just how tough a night she’d had up there. It had been a battle for her from start to finish and she hadn’t even had a drink to sooth her throat during the break. She had battled on like a true professional trooper and the effort she had put in hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The applause went on, and on, but the house lights came up. I wondered if Kate would manage a meet and greet appearance but I doubted it very much. She needed scooping up and taking home to a warm bed and maybe some hot brandy seasoned with lemon juice and a good spoonful of honey. I hoped the boys in the band were going to look after her and that she had travelled down with them. I didn’t like the idea of her having to drive herself all the way back to London alone. After the night she’d had it would likely finish whatever morale and strength was left in her.

Out in the entrance hall the staff were lined up so as to direct people away from a closed bar. A closed bar !?!!

Shit, not much chance of an after gig drinkie then. Not here at least. There was no evidence of a ‘table’ selling discs and such like either. That meant I’d been right to guess no meet and greet tonight. I followed the crowd to the street and kind of stood there a moment, undecided in just what to do next. I turned my phone on again. You never knew who might want to call. Knowing my luck it’d be my pal round the corner to aid him with his insensible father troubles. I trundled up the street as far as the Natwest where a couple of public benches were positioned. I sat down, took out a Mehari Sweet and lit up watching the crowd disperse into the night like the smoke from my cigar. Maybe Dr Who really had brought most of them because I counted only a half dozen spirits pass me by.

I sat there smoking until I’d done.

“I sat beside the telephone
Waiting for someone to pull me through
When at last it didn’t ring, I knew it wasn’t you”

Kirsty McColl – ‘New England’

Flicking the embers into the gutter I rose to go find a decent pint. I’d had enough of the snooty over priced bollocks at the Kings Head. It was time to find out what liquid delights were on offer down at the White Hart. I passed a small tavern on the way. A regular at the bar staring blankly into the street did a double take as I passed.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Fucks to that place then.

Approaching the White Hart the sound of AC/DC rolled out towards me like a welcome mat. The song was ‘It’s A Long Way To the Top If You Want To Rock N Roll’, and I couldn’t think of anything that could have been more appropriate.

“Riding down the highway
Going to a show
Stopping on the by-ways
Playing Rock N Roll
Getting robbed
Getting stoned
Getting beat up, broken bones
Getting had, getting took
I tell you folks
It’s harder than it looks

It’s a long way to the top if you want to Rock N Roll
It’s a long way to the top if you want to Rock N Roll

If you think it’s easy playing one night stands
Try playing in a Rock N Roll band
It’s a long way to the top if you want to Rock N Roll "

AC/DC – ‘It’s A Long Way To the Top If You Want To Rock N Roll’

I walked in, saw the drunk guy at the end of the bar rambling in the manner Saturday night drunks do to anyone who’ll listen, swerved him, and found a place down the other end of the bar. There was a bit of a ‘Slaughtered Lamb’ moment as the heads turned and nods and winks were exchanged that they thought I was unaware of. I got served and before I’d parked myself on a handily and rapidly vacated stool behind me I’d seemed to have erected an invisible four foot exclusion zone.

Bollocks to it.

They had some real cider here, out of a tap, and it was a pound cheaper than the Magner’s I’d scored over at the Kings Head. I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Either I’d end up in a fist fight with some yokel type out to score a reputation as downtown Wimborne’s baddest boy, or ……….. ah fuck it. I was tired and a long way past worrying about it.

I zoned out thinking about the gig. Had there been any stage monitors ? What the hell was Kate’s manager playing at ? Did she have one come to that ? The regulars eyed me like a rare curiosity. I got onto my third pint before someone actually had the balls to speak. It was one of the bar staff returning glasses to the bar.

“Nice leather mate.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s some piece of work.”

“It’s old, knackered, and falling apart like me. It’s only the studs still holding it together. I’ve worn this to every gig I’ve been to in the last twenty four years.”

“Really ? Who’ve you seen ?”

I started peeling off the list;- The Damned, Siouxsie And The Banshees, The Buzzcocks, Amy Winehouse, Zodiac Mindwarp And The Love Reaction, Toyah, Big Audio Dynamite, The Icicle Works, Ian McNabb, B.B. King, Macy Gray, Dead Men Walking, Pete Wylie, Joe Strummer, The Mission, Stiff Little Fingers, Public Image Ltd, Sex Pistols, New York Dolls, Glen Matlock, The Slits, New Model Army, The Specials, The Selecter, The Beat, Bad Manners, Kelis, Spear Of Destiny, The Meteors, A Flock Of Seagulls, Transvision Vamp pre ‘I Want Your Love’, Skunk Anansie before their first single ‘Selling Jesus’ was released, Debbie Harry who’s shoe I now have on my sideboard, The Cramps (I had part of Lux’s microphone stand on a chain round my neck, the rest of it in my bedroom at home), The Streets, Morcheeba, Zion Train, Dreadzone, what was left of Bob Marley’s Wailers but I walked out disgusted at the look-a-like Bob whose guitar wasn’t even plugged in, Jah Wobble who I’d walked out on because he was just awful, Lee Scratch Perry, Billy Bragg, Frank Sidebottom, Killing Joke, Fun Lovin’ Criminals, Toots And The Maytals, Skin, The Hives, The Cult, Pete Murphy (of Bauhaus), Marc Almond, The Guana Batz, Gary Glitter, The Pogues, Guns N Roses, Carter USM, Utah Saints, Trans Global Underground, Pop Will Eat Itself, The Cranberries, The Primitives, Echobelly, Credit To The Nation, Sleeper, Iggy Pop, Oasis at Glastonbury 1995, The Cure, P.J. Harvey, Simple Minds, Elastica, The George Clinton Experience, Placebo, Goldie Looking Chain, The Alarm, Elvis Costello, covered most of them. Now I was adding Katy Setterfield to that list.

“Where you from ?”

“Liverpool.”

“What brings you down here ?”

“A band I wanted to see.”

“Yeah, who ?”

“You won’t believe me or you’ll laugh.”

He stood his ground raising an eyebrow quizzically. I was beginning to like him.

“A Dusty Springfield act over at the Tivoli.”

“Yeah ? I saw the posters earlier, any good ?”

“Yes, very good.”

“You came all this way down for the gig ?”

“Yeah.”

“How long you staying ?”

“Just tonight.”

“You came all the way down from Liverpool for one night ?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey John. Come meet this guy. He came all the way down from Liverpool for one night to see a band at the Tivoli.”

“Yeah ? Who ?”

A grey haired yokel hippie type with the full beard thing happening stepped over,

“Hi.”

“Ye’alright fella.”

“Who did you go see ?”

I went through it all again over another pint. By the time I left I knew more about the sketch in downtown Wimborne than could be conceived of by ordinary mortals. I’d definitely found what passed as the rocker’s pub in these parts. Hell, the place was more lively than my own local. I’d liked to have stayed until closing time at midnight, but I had a long day in front of me and I didn’t want to do it with a hangover. I had a feeling the journey back up wouldn’t be as smooth as the one down.

I stepped outside and lit my good night smoke and strolled up to Gordon House and made my bed just after midnight still thinking about the gig.

The alarm woke me at 7:00am. Damn I was snotty this morning. I got myself into the shower. Phlegm slid down the back of my throat as I was brushing my teeth. I gagged and threw up in the shower. I wondered how Kate was feeling ?

I put myself and my bag together and went down for breakfast. It was my last chance to get something down me before I got home. I wasn’t sure I could. I’d been feeling a little off all week. My permanent sinus condition worsened then receded then worsened as the week wore on. Morning sickness wasn’t the sole preserve to those with pregnancy alone. I was still feeling shakey but I was settling.

The nice lady running the place brought me a breakfast that was first class. There was no sign of excess grease on the plate at all. The eggs were splendid and the tomatoes weren’t over cooked. I finished up swallowing the last of my tea and went to pay the bill. A very reasonable £30.00 all considered. I slid into my leather and headed down to the bus stop in the square at 8:45am. When I got there I found I was at the wrong one. I crossed the road, crossed my fingers and lit up a Cohiba while I waited, savouring the taste of the Cuban tobacco.

Why were the good things in life so bad for you ?

The bus arrived at 9:15am and got me to Bournemouth. Now the fun would begin. I found out where and what time the train was and stepped into the coffee shop. I found a seat and sat down debating whether or not to add a shot of brandy. I did. Then I stepped outside the station itself for another smoke with my special coffee while I was able.

The train was on time, but it was only going as far as Oxford. The ticket inspector informed me I’d have to take a coach, which was being laid on, to
Leamington and change. Fantastic ! I was bloody right again. I off loaded my coffee at Oxford and went to find the coach passing a girl in leopard skin high heels,

“Nice shoes.”,

I opined passing without stopping. From behind I got,

“Thanks.”

I found the coach. It was almost full. I found a last seat next to some lunken dullard in his early twenties that looked like he’d had a good night on the ale somewhere. He was sat in the aisle seat with his bag on the window seat next to him. He made no effort to acknowledge my presence,

“Shove over man.”

A light went on but I could tell no one was home. He moved and let me have the window seat. Then he slumped with his head resting on the seat in front of him. I was still thinking about the gig. People usually come out of one with two perspective responses, ‘they were great’ or ‘they were fuckin’ shite’. The later usually because the band hadn’t played a particular favourite song, but I wondered in the cold light of day how last nights audience would be thinking.

It’s easy to come away from a gig when the band are on good form and the sound folken are good at what they get paid for, but it’s when you see an artiste on a bad night that you find out what kind of metal they are made of. So far as I was judge Kate was made of steel plated platinum with a core of pure gold. Why on earth she wasn’t playing places like the O2 Academy circuit baffled me completely. There were untold tribute bands doing those rounds and doing very well out of it. Why wasn’t she ? What was her promoter up to ? Where was her publicity agent ? Her personal assistant that should have had her intermission drink ready and waiting to hand her as she came off stage for her break ?

All was not right in this state of Denmark.

Even the so called Superfan’s hadn’t made much use of themselves last night. Fancy the poor girl not getting a drink !?!! That would never have happened in Liverpool. That sort of thing was a stoning offence where I came from, and I mean the sort with thrown rocks. Although if your lucky ……..

I reached Leamington. The guy on the desk said the train I wanted would be coming in half an hour and that I’d have to change at Birmingham. Oh just fantastic. A fool crossed my path as I went to take a smoke outside,

“Get out the fuckin’ way.”.

Gods I hated standing around waiting. I took a look at my surroundings. Ooooh, was that a pub I could see across the road and down a bit ? Yes it was. So I headed over with no time to loose. I walked into a tatty sports boozer called The Exchange populated by lounging beer bellied wasters staring at some sporting event on the big screen behind me that held no interest for me whatever.

They eyed my up and down but continued with their Sunday afternoon amusements leaving me to a swift but peaceful pint. I returned to the station and boarded the train. The ticket inspector advised me to stay on the train past Birmingham to Wolverhampton. It would be less hassle he said. I wondered if he’d be right ? It was turned 2:00pm. The way things were shaping I’d be lucky to reach home before 6:00pm. I reached into my bag and drew a flask of brandy taking a few swigs before settling into my seat. Travel is so much easier when mind and body are relaxed. I thought about dropping a valium but knew it would wipe me too far out. I still needed to be sharp enough to navigate another two stations and deal with who knew what manner of fools.

I reached Wolverhampton and collared the train guard as a row of hefty police eyed me up and down. Oh Gods, don’t tell me I’d walked into a station expecting an invasion of football hooligans ?

“Hey fella, am I at the right place to get a train up to Liverpool ?”

“Yes, right here in half an hour.”

Something sank inwards.

“Is there a pub ?”

I found The Great Western right behind the station as he’d directed. The place was mobbed with idiots with no higher interest in life but the height the football had been kicked. I wasn’t drawing much attention though for a change. I got served and as I poured my Bulmer’s one of the old boys on my left trod on my toe,

“Oh sorry mate.”

I looked him over, acknowledged, and finished pouring my pint.

“Harley Davison is it ?”

“No mate. I just have a leather fetish.”

“Whaaaaa’ ?

“A leather fetish.”

He and his pal disappeared like the smoke from one of my cigars whilst I took my first draught. Stepping through the station to the platform some fool crossed my path so close he was nearly under my boot sole.

“Out the fuckin’ way dick’ead.”

The guard I spoke to earlier came up and told me that the train was now expected on the platform over the bridge. I made my way over and leaned up against the post casting my mind homewards momentarily before the guard caught my attention from the platform opposite,

“Hey mate, they’ve changed it again. You need to come back over here.”

Less hassle huh ? Gods, now I was in a scene from ‘Carry On Station’. I suppose it made a change from ‘Carry On ConDem’d’. I crossed the bridge and boarded the train Liverpool bound at 3:52pm. Uncorking my flask of brandy and draining it I wondered how Kate was ? Unless I badly missed my guess I’d have put a quid on her putting her baggage together to board some ship somewhere Monday that would get her to Gibraltar for the two gigs in Spain I knew she was doing this week instead of staying in bed and taking the rest she needed.

I made Liverpool and slipped into The Crown for a swift one before the last leg of the journey. My thoughts turned towards home again. No doubt the two bastards that lived with me had left the bins unemptied and the dishwasher stacked. Gods knew what else I’d walk into. My pal with the shit arsed father had called me from my dining lounge at turned quarter to midnight last night. Getting no sense I’d hung up quickly. It could wait. No doubt I’d find a vodka bottle and a cola bottle somewhere on my dining table and a few dirty glasses to go with them. The idea of tackling them when I got in held no appeal for me at all.

Bollocks to going home then !

I picked up my bag and headed over to Lime Street underground boarding a train across, or should that be below, the Mersey. I got out at Hamilton Square and stepped straight into a taxi making my local pub at 6:15pm. I bumped into the girl that gave me a ride home from Langton Docks,

“Where’ve you been ?”,

she asked eyeing my bag.

“The middle of nowhere. A place called Wimborne.”

“What did you go there for ?”

“I went to see a singer with her band.”

“Not the one off the ship ?”

“That’s the one.”

I turned towards the bar not needing to order, a Bulmer’s and a glass with a little ice were already waiting for me.

Viper, 2:08am, 26/5/2011.

Edited 9/3/2012

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First Published 26/5/2011 by Viperslair.co.uk

Re-published 14/3/2012 With YouTube Soundtrack

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