Those 'train wreck' moments

[Huge Hands]

Years ago I played in a blues band that played mainly obscure covers and originals.

 

We got booked for a gig for a London borough council at their local offices.  I remember helping the organist get hs heavy Hammond up the stairs - not fun!

 

As we started - it soon became clear that we had been booked to play the council's Christmas party.  Apparently the council leader loved blues music and had seen us play so booked us for his own gratification.  I could see him at the back of the room slowly grooving away with his eyes closed.  Unfortunately, between him and us were about 100 council employees - including a load of young staff all looking at us as if to say "what the f**k is this?".

 

At the interval, I pleaded with the band to try and jam through some Christmassy tunes for the second set, but they gave it the "we're too cool to change" bit.  We went back on and did our standard set to even more silence.  It was such an awkward night....

[nekomatic]

Nothing I have is a patch on any of these but since we're here… my student jazz-funk band was asked to play someone's house party. We did some originals and some covers ranging from current (Corduroy) through well-known (Chameleon) to fairly obscure ones. We get there and this guy says oh, I play keyboards, is it OK if I join in with you?

 

We look at each other uneasily. Sorry mate, our guitarist says, but, er, we've got arrangements and stuff (subtext: and we've rehearsed them).

 

Turns out he's the DJ and gets us back after our set by playing the original of every tune we cover, to show how much better the original was than our version (which to be fair, was true).

[chris_b]

My school band did a series of gigs for a guy called Ron King, who worked for Don Arden. That should have rung alarm bells but what did we know? We played 5 nights in a row all over the South East finishing up somewhere in Essex. Ron then told us we had one last gig at a night club in Ashford Kent, so we'd better get going. We'd be paid for all the gigs there.

 

Well, obviously there was no gig and we didn't get paid!! They could have just told us to get lost. The bouncers/thugs had lumps of lead taped into the palms of their hands, so we wouldn't have argued!! Instead they sent us on a 100 mile goose-chase to Kent at 12 o'clock at night!

 

I don't know if there are as many crooks in the music business these days as there was back then, but I don't know anyone who was playing back then, who didn't get ripped off at least once.

[borntohang]

Headlining a stage at Truck festival which was the culmination of a week of reasonably high profile festival gigs that have all gone off with successively bigger bangs. Singer pushes herself too hard the day before after doing a festival headliner plus a BBC live set and consequently can barely talk so we're running through the setlist trying to work out bits we can drop or that we can fill out with backing vocals. "That's a cosy ten minutes" indeed.

 

The stage was the only indoor one and it had been raining all day so we were confident of pulling a decent crowd, but it turns out to be in a recently vacated cowshed which smelt like it had only been vacated overnight - turns out there's a certain penetrating quality to cow fosters on concrete that even a couple of hours of serious scrubbing won't remove. After about thirty minutes your nose just shuts down entirely and your earwax starts melting instead. We can see the crowds turning up at the entrance but they inevitably get about twenty feet into the venue before The Whiff hits them and they make a sharp exit. Acoustics are exactly what you'd imagine from a concrete floor, breezeblock walls, and a tin roof.

 

Guitarist ends up snapping a string halfway in and passes his guitar offstage to our tech for restringing while he used the backup, but tech is actually a driver and moreover has never strung a Bigsby before so is totally stumped and eventually just lumps the guitar back onto side-stage unstrung. I think we made it to 30 minutes in the end to be fair to the hardcore few who stayed it out, but it was clear that nobody (audience or band) had their heart in it when Artic Monkeys are playing just across the field in a venue that doesn't smell like a nervous farmer's market.

 

Drive back North was a couple of hours of heavily reconsidering life choices.

 

edit: reading this back it strikes me that both Cow Fosters (thanks swear filter...) and The Whiff would be great band names.

Edited February 2, 2022 by borntohang

[Dan Dare]

1 hour ago, EBS_freak said:

Been there - one particularly annoying venue where the buzz was intermittent.

 

At the END of the gig, it turns our we were playing on the same mains ring as the fridges, so every time the compressors kicked in, so did the buzz.

 

I feel your pain. I now carry a 50 metre extension cable and a power conditioner, so I can hopefully find a clean power socket or at least limit the problem.

[NikNik]

1 hour ago, EBS_freak said:

Been there - one particularly annoying venue where the buzz was intermittent.

 

At the END of the gig, it turns our we were playing on the same mains ring as the fridges, so every time the compressors kicked in, so did the buzz.

Had that problem once. Outside gennie running 16A line to our gear. Whilst we were away and unbeknownst to us when we returned, the caterers  - hidden behind a silkscreened section of the large marquee - had disconnected the Cee-Form connector and inserted a 16A-13A power-block, which powered their fridges and their large food-heaters. Unbelievably, when challenged about this, they hit the fkn roof and bawled at us not to unplug their power!! We had to seek out the organiser to tell her what was happening and recommended getting her Spark firm back out to put in another line for the caterers, who had already had a 16A put in for them at the other end of their section!

[BigRedX]

2 hours ago, BigRedX said:

Another one, but not of my band's making...

 

In the mid 90s my dance/rock band was starting to get a bit of interest both from (non pay to play) London promotors and indie record labels. We had just done one gig at a new venue in Camden where we had saved the night from being a write-off mostly because our excellent sound engineer had managed to get a decent mix for all the bands on the bill despite the terrible PA system that had been hired in (it was mostly ancient HH gear and would have been seriously out of date 15 years previously). The promotor was most impressed and wanted to give us a better gig at a different venue. This coincided with Jive Records wanting to see us play.

 

The subsequent gig was at a more impressive venue with a proper PA system and in-house engineers. We were down as headliners (and in this instance it was supposed to be headlining and just "playing last"). Great sound check and the venue was filling up with a good sized audience, and everything was going well until the band immediately before us hit the stage. "We're ****" they announced (TBH I can't remember what they were called) "and this afternoon we just signed with **** (very minor indie label) records, so flip you all!" and then proceeded to play a "set" that consisted of 30 minutes of massively loud atonal noise and feedback. Within 5 minutes they had all but emptied the venue. Afterwards we went on hoping that maybe people would drift back in now that there was a band playing some proper tunes, but as far at the audience were concerned the evening was over and they had probably gone to somewhere less offensively noisy or home. I think we played to a couple of friends of the singer who lived in London and hadn't seen us before. The A&R person from Jive never showed up, or if they did, had left with everyone else before we played. By the time we'd finished playing the other band had also disappeared, and it's probably just as well that they had otherwise there might have been a serious incident.

 

On the way back to Nottingham, our normally very reliable roadie/driver nearly fell asleep at the wheel on the M1 and caught us just in time before we drifted into the path of a large lorry. It took several cups of black coffee at the next services before he felt up to continuing our journey. We got back to Nottingham with just enough time to unload the van before those who had work that day had to leave to be there on time.

 

Just remembered that while the first gig described here went really well, getting back for me was a complete nightmare.

 

I don't recall the exact circumstances, but instead of travelling back with the rest of the band and gear, I went with our sound engineer who had borrowed a friend's "people carrier" so that some of our Nottingham fans could see us play in London. On the way back we needed to fill up with petrol, and I told him, I'd pay and to fill the tank and we'd sort out the money with the owner once we got back home. Just as we took our exit off the M1 the vehicle started to make strange noises and we coasted to a halt just by the Ratcliffe Power Station. We'd run out of fuel. I was seething as I had been completely prepared to shell out for a full tank, but our sound engineer thought he was trying to do me favour and miscalculated how much we actually need to get all the way back. There was nothing we could do but leave the vehicle and our fans and head off towards Clifton about 6 miles away where the nearest petrol station was. This was at about 4.00 in the morning, so we were extremely lucky to get picked up by the only other car on the road within 5 minutes of setting off, and they not only took us to the petrol station where we were able to purchase a fuel can and fill it up, but brought us back to our vehicle as well! Just as well really, because If we'd ended up walking all the way, I think I would have probably left him there to get back to the vehicle on his own and got a bus into Nottingham, as the early ones would have been running by that time.

[rushbo]

Sorry, this is a bit of a long one, but it is eventful...

 

It’s 1990 and my Birmingham based indie band thought it would be a great idea to travel up to Bolton for a gig, on a Thursday night in January. When we set off, a few non-threatening flakes of snow pitter-pattered on the windscreen, but spirits were high. We got to the venue, climbed the stairs (of course) to the stage area and got busy setting up.

 

Eventually, we caught sight of the landlord of the pub- a pimpled youth who looked too young to get served in a bar let alone run one. He was accompanied by an elderly lady we took to be his mother and a barmaid in her early twenties. After a while, Andy, our lead singer/guitarist went up to the baby-faced barman and asked where the PA was. Babyface pointed to two speakers, suspended from the ceiling. ‘Those are speakers’ said Andy,  confused… Babyface was adamant that we should have bought a PA amp and stomped off to try and find us something ‘from out the back’. After about twenty minutes, he emerged with a desk mounted microphone about the size of a telephone directory with a curved horn protruding from it…the kind of thing a 1920s taxi controller would use. When we pointed out that Andy would have to lie on the floor and sing with one finger on the ‘talk’ button, Babyface seemed to think this was a viable option. After a while he came back with the kind of microphone that came free with a 1970s music centre. The lead was about five feet long and held together with sticky tape. To make it work, it had to be plugged into the spare input on Andy’s guitar amp which gave the vocals a certain ‘Stephen Hawking’ timbre. We also had to gaffa tape it to a cymbal stand. It was at this point, I decided to drink heavily…

 

We struggled through our hour long set, said ‘Thank you Bolton and goodnight’ and I trotted off to see Babyface for our fee. ‘You ain’t finished. Play for another half hour or ya dunt get paid’ came the reply. I relayed this information to my colleagues and unsurprisingly it was greeted with less than joy. After a brief discussion, we decided that rather than repeat numbers we had already played, we would play the Velvet Undergrounds’ ‘Sweet Jane’ for 30 minutes exactly. I decided I needed something to make this ordeal slightly more palatable and marched to the bar and ordered two large whiskeys which I downed in about 20 seconds. Now, I was ready.

 

Andy decided he was just going to sing and left his guitar on the stand and improvised often profane variations on one of Lou Reeds’ finest works, whilst glaring at Babyface, who seemed oblivious to it all. By now, I was steaming drunk and barely capable of playing the incredibly simple bass line. Occasionally, I would stop to steady myself on the drumkit or reach forward and steal the drinks from the table of two nice young girls, who looked at me like I was a basket case. Our drummer and guitarist diligently plugged away with murder in their eyes. Half way through the song and feeling slightly unwell, I decided I needed a rest and found a suitable place for a lie down…a ‘bench’ about 18” wide. Perfect! I gingerly manoeuvred myself into a horizontal position and continued to plunk away whilst grinning inanely and looking at the ceiling. Something felt wrong…and then it occurred to me that I was lying on the railing at the top of the staircase and to my immediate right was a thirty-foot drop to the ground floor. With all the elegance I could muster, I got back into an upright position and after EXACTLY 30 minutes, in the middle of a chorus, Andy yelled ‘STOP!’ and walked straight over to the bar for the fee. But Babyface was nowhere to be seen. Andy asked the barmaid where he was, and she opened the door to the stockroom…there was Babyface in the middle of a passionate and noisy clinch with the woman we took to be his mother. It was at that moment I decided I needed another drink. Whilst at the bar, I was slapped hard on the back by a drooling drunk – obviously feeling I was a kindred spirit – and with his face about an inch from mine he yelled that we were ‘the best thing he’d seen since Hendrix!’ Given that he looked about 30, he was either a precocious gig-goer or, more likely, King of the B*llsh*tters. Anyway, he bought me a drink and then fell down most of the stairs.

 

The journey back was hell. At one point, three of the lads decided they needed a toilet break. Rather than pull into a service station, Andy immediately wrenched the van to the side of the road and flung open the doors. By now, the light scattering of snowflakes had turned into a blizzard and we were ankle deep in white slush. On leaving the van, the three intrepid travellers had to go down a fairly modest incline to get to the nearest tree to relieve themselves against. All well and good on the way down, but due to the weather conditions and the inebriated state they found themselves in, no one could get back to the van. They would get halfway up and then slip down like contestants on some unholy episode of ‘Total Wipeout’. I was alerted to their plight by the screams and profanities which shattered the peaceful night air. I fell out of the van to see what the commotion was, to be greeted by the sight of three soaking, mudsplattered figures yelling at me for assistance. I am not proud of this, BassChat, but I laughed so much at their condition, I was completely incapable of reaching down and pulling them up. Eventually, they scrambled back to the van and one of them punched me.

 

Mercifully, I was the first to be dropped off at home. So, at six thirty in the morning – half an hour before I had to get up to go to work – I extracted myself woozily from the van, steadied myself against a rather lovely Oak tree on the traffic island in the middle of my street and puked over my Chelsea boots. Full of self loathing and feeling like I had moments to live, I brought my gaze upwards from my ruined footwear to be greeted by the faces of the postman, the milkman and my next door neighbour, just arriving home from the nightshift.

 

That’s showbiz.

 

Edited February 2, 2022 by rushbo

[MacDaddy]

Ah, the "getting back" train wreck.

 

In the days before satnav, my band had a gig in Northampton. A band member had a friend in Northampton so we were able to get to the gig fine, in daylight.

After the gig the friend had gone, and I asked the bar manager for directions to the M1. Now what I reckon happened, is that they clocked my northern accent, and thinking that they were doing me a favour, gave directions to the M1 north junction. Which would have been fine, but I was living in Luton at the time.

As it happened there were roadworks and diversions in place. Turning back in the dark and early hours of the morning on country lanes wasn't really an option, so we didn't actually join the M1 until near Leicester.

 

[TimR]

21 hours ago, ubit said:

That is until the next day when we went to the head of the hall committee to get the key to get our gear out. ' Your language is absolutely atrocious young man, you should be ashamed of yourself" I had to sheepishly apologise as all rock star ambitions were dashed and I was brought back down to to Earth and reduced to eating humble pie and thinking I bet Iron maiden don't get this.

 

I used to play a few jazz gigs with my dad on piano and brother on drums.

 

My dad would rustle up some local talent on brass and woodwind and put on a jazz afternoon or evening for his local village to raise some money.

 

My brother and I were co-opted in, he would busk the drums and I'd do my best to play walking bass over some awkward chord changes written in indecipherable hyroglyphics. It was mainly just a case of keep going at the back, listen and watch for changes while the woodwind/brass/piano played huge great solos and took the heat.

 

My brother and I, at the back would be pulling faces at each other and playing random humorous fills in relevant places and generally using it as an excuse to have fun.

 

At one of these gigs we stopped for a break, sandwiches and wine and while I was talking to my brother about how busy it was and how well we were playing and going down, a lady approached us.

"You must be H's sons."

"Yes"

"Well I've been watching you both. Stop messing around at the back!"

 

Always very humbling to be told off when you're in your mid forties. 😆

[TimR]

2 hours ago, Dan Dare said:

 

I feel your pain. I now carry a 50 metre extension cable and a power conditioner, so I can hopefully find a clean power socket or at least limit the problem.

 

Played a village fair once. The first set was great. Then it got dark and we switched the lights on and the electronics went crazy.

 

I switched a few lights off and it calmed down a bit and we finished playing on a somewhat gloomy stage. 

 

I followed the extension lead back across the field to a shed where I assume the lead had been plugged in, but it went round the shed and plugged into another lead that snaked off towards the village hall. Must have been well over 150m from where we set up. Assuming it was plugged in at the hall. 

 

 

[nekomatic]

41 minutes ago, rushbo said:

The journey back was hell. At one point,

 

Most of this (excellent) thread has had me either wincing in pain or smiling wryly, but at this paragraph I roared with laughter. Chapeau!

 

I was tickled to learn that Artic Monkeys played the Truck Festival though...

[NikNik]

Village fair power supply...

 

[ubit]

Another time when in our first incarnation we played at a village hall way up North. I won't say where for reasons later to be shared. It was a massive drive and when we got there we were told there's no point starting until one o'clock when the pubs empty. We sound checked and found that there was a dodgy cable which caused a loud noise when it was disturbed. Our keyboard player/rythm guitarist had to surrender his guitar amp as the lead guitarist's packed in. One o'clock came and no bugger turned up. We decided we should start and they should come, or so we thought. Our keyboard player/rhythm guitarist not having a guitar amp, would walk off stage if there were no keyboard parts. Every time he did this he would stand on the dodgy cable. This caused much annoyance with the rest of us and tempers were rapidly fraying and harsh words exchanged. We finished the night with about six people in the audience. When we spoke to the woman from the hall committee who had hired us and asked for our fee, she said I can't pay you, not enough people turned up. This caused more arguments as we said you booked us! It's not our fault etc, etc. She was adamant she couldn't afford our fee. We settled down for the night in the back of the hall in our sleeping bags and grumbled. Luckily someone had brought some hash and we ended up getting stoned and drunk and having a great laugh. We were so cheesed off at not getting the money that we raided the halls stock of props and nicked some footlights that did us for many years. All in all we could have a laugh about it later but at the time we were mightily cheesed off. Luckily the PA hire and disco that we had travelled with put it down to a good laugh road trip and didn't insist on being paid. Ah, the memories.

[Boodang]

To mis-quote the Shrek line to describe the jazz/groove trio I played in, it wasn't getting us to play that was the issue, it was getting us to shut up. The set was made up mostly of stuff from the 70s (think tv theme music), with plenty of improvisation. If we weren't feeling particularly inspired the set would still over run, but on a good night the improvisations could easily triple the length of a song and the keyboard player, as good as he was, would be in a world of his own.

Playing a gig in Northampton, we were feeling particularly inspired, no break between sets, heads down and thoroughly enjoying our improvisational genius (well in our heads we were genius!). Then, all we could hear was drums as the PA stopped working. Management had pulled the plug and came over to sort of apologise but mostly to say it was the easiest way to shut us up given that it was closing time and we weren't paying attention to his gesturing. We were still feeling quite chuffed with our playing but the managements parting comment was that 'we were quite good but next time could we play more than just one unrelenting song'. We felt slightly less chuffed as we packed up.

[ubit]

Drunks always have a way of bringing you back down to Earth. We played a party on the island of Mull many years ago and it went down great. A drunk guy came up and gestured towards the guitarists shiny red trousers. I've got a pair of those he said, but I wear them to bed.

Next day on the ferry another drunk approached us and asked were you the band that played at **** last night? What are you called? Yes we answered proudly. We are called **** ........Well you were too bloody loud and you should be called the loud machine!

[ubit]

30 minutes ago, NikNik said:

Village fair power supply...

 

 

 

Ah yes, the dodgy electrics. We played at a party out of town and it was in a barn that stank of beasts. The stage was a hastily constructed effort and the power was very, very shady looking. I plugged my SVT 2 in and we started. My bass would be ok for about 30 seconds and then stop for about 15 seconds, then it would come on again and so on. It was dreadful. I had to stop playing and just sing. When we took a break I told the rest what a disaster I was having. Then some folk came up and said that was excellent. We even got some more bookings. I couldn't believe it. It just shows if people can hear a beat, guitar and singing they are happy. Especially if heavy drinking is involved.

[NikNik]

3 minutes ago, ubit said:

 

 

Ah yes, the dodgy electrics. We played at a party out of town and it was in a barn that stank of beasts. The stage was a hastily constructed effort and the power was very, very shady looking. I plugged my SVT 2 in and we started. My bass would be ok for about 30 seconds and then stop for about 15 seconds, then it would come on again and so on. It was dreadful. I had to stop playing and just sing. When we took a break I told the rest what a disaster I was having. Then some folk came up and said that was excellent. We even got some more bookings. I couldn't believe it. It just shows if people can hear a beat, guitar and singing they are happy. Especially if heavy drinking is involved.

It wasn't Muir of Ord, by any chance??

[rushbo]

37 minutes ago, NikNik said:

Village fair power supply...

 

 

How true.

 

In the mid nineties, I was a member of Britain's third most popular pagan rock band (stop sniggering...) and we played a cute little festival on a farm in Bridlington. All the power came via a single extension cord which had to be plugged into a barn owned by a neighbouring farmer who had wisely buggered off for the day. We had a power breaker, but as the barn was going to be locked once we'd plugged in, if the device tripped, we'd have no electricity. And just to make life interesting, it had been raining and although we were playing in a "covered" outhouse, there were holes in the roof large enough to land a helicopter through. So, everything was wet, or at the very least, moist. The sensible option would have been to crank out the acoustic guitars. We didn't. By a miracle, no one died, but two members of the band had to sleep in the van as their tent (and pretty much everything they had bought with them) was absolutely soaked/ruined. 

 

Top gig tho'. 

 

 

[chris_b]

1 hour ago, MacDaddy said:

Ah, the "getting back" train wreck.

 

Ah. . . yes!!

 

In the "old days" you'd jump into your trusty ex-GPO Commer van and head off anywhere for a gig. I was picked up at about 8am to drive to Sunderland.

 

We did the gig and headed back, getting into the morning rush hour somewhere near Hatfield at about 8 am. Sitting in the traffic jam we saw an old woman walking between the cars.  Our roadie, who was a helpful chap, jumped out and asked if there was a problem and she told us she was lost and trying to find her way home, which was somewhere in Lambeth! I know, we didn't think to question that!!

 

We were a helpful bunch so put her in the van and took her to Lambeth. We couldn't find the road, so went to the Police station to ask. They took one look at her and said "Hello Mary. So you've turned up again!" Apparently she was in a old peoples home in Hatfield and kept trying to go back to where she had lived.

 

We left her with the Police and I was finally dropped off in West London at about 1 o'clock! A 27 hour round trip!

[ubit]

29 minutes ago, NikNik said:

It wasn't Muir of Ord, by any chance??

 

 

Nah mate, it was near Ardrishaig

[ubit]

In our first band we really could watch Spinal Tap and think that's not funny, that happened to us. We had some amazing adventures when we were inexperienced and stupid. We could identify with that whole movie. It was a different world back then. You could hire halls and put on dances or someone would book you for a dance. Nowadays you can hardly get into pubs round here!

[Leonard Smalls]

We had a roadie back in the early 90s who not only had a legendary dog (Merlin, see earlier story), but an ancient, hand-painted Transit van in matt black.

Now he was a proper old hippy, always had a large reefer in his hand and never exceeded 45mph (which was no doubt a good thing, but journeys invariably took a very long time).

Once we were supporting (i think) Gaye Bykers in Exeter, which went down very well; we'd had a decent rider, we'd been paid and all were a little tired and emotional (apart from Roadie, who didn't drink). So we set off towards London, one in the front and the rest of us lolling on top of cabs and gear in the back, and everybody eventually fell asleep. Quite a while later I woke up and saw complete blackness everywhere, no motorway, no signs of any lights or life, we were on a tiny single track road and Roadie had absolutely no clue where we were.

Turned out Roadie had a problem with fixating... He would follow the line on the left unless specifically told not to! So he'd bimbled off the M4 somewhere in Gloucestershire, and via a series of random left turns we'd all ended up in mid Wales.

We got home about 11am, which was a bit of a problem as I was working at 8am!

[bassace]

Continuing the subject of power supply...

 

I can go far enough back to when we used to take a bagful of all sorts of plugs with a common 13amp socket so we could connect to whatever the hall/pub had pre ring main. We also had an earth rod to hammer into the ground if required.

 

By 1966 I was playing with a very good five piece with two saxes, keys, bass, drums. We had a weekly gig at a country club outside Reading where we’d play a jazz/ bop set before the interval and then a rock set afterwards. Various people would come and sit in, including a vibraphone player who was an eye surgeon by day.  Power was provided by a single cylinder ‘thumper’ generator and I considered it advisable to stand on a rubber mat to keep the tingles away when I played bass guitar. The vibes player used to complain that his rotors turned slowly on this particular gig. When a guitarist sat in he reckoned he was getting distortion in his amp. So he put an AVO across the supply and we were getting not much more than 120 volts! I remember going up to Tottenham Court Road where they had all sorts of component shops and getting a step up transformer which got us to 240 volts and clear sound on the PA.

 

One Saturday evening we played a big do at REME Arborfield. There were two massive marquees, bright lights all rigged by the army and powered by a massive generator that appeared to be powered by a Spitfire engine!

 

We set up and proceeded to play. After a while I got the distinct whiff of wet paint. I hadn’t realised they’d painted the marquee, or so I thought. The paint smell got stronger and all of a sudden there were dense acrid white clouds of smoke that caused a complete evacuation. What had happened was that the guy who carried our electrical gear thought, ah, generator and put the step up into our feed. So a very strong 240v was going into a primary that was expecting 120v and in no time cooked the lot. Surprisingly none of our gear was damaged, apart from the step up which ended up as a charred mess.

 

After a while the gig continued as though nothing had happened.

[Lozz196]

Back in 91 the band I was in did a UK tour, as a support band.

 

First gig was in Bradford. All pile in the van which had been rented & modded for the tour, driver sets off with the band in fine mood.

 

Pull up, driver says everyone out as he’s having trouble finding the venue, asks one of us to go into a petrol station to ask for directions.

 

Before that happened I asked “Isn’t the gig in Bradford” to which the answer was yes.

 

My next question, which wasn’t so well received was “ well why are we in Barnsley”.

 

Aaaaaarrgh!