Me, Porto and The Slater.

Ok folks, just explaining the ease of a blog to Mr Slater's Parrot at the moment. We've had an extra super smashing time in Porto. We've met a LOT of great folks and had some wonderful adventures. However these will all have to wait until I get off the plane on Monday, sleep and find some time on Tuesday to have a mess about on this old blog palaver of mine ....

In the meantime McMeldrew would like me to point out that the name of the doggie in one of my last posts is Dylan. We're also bigging up Claire, Andy and the Gladstone Terrace clan! One love etc etc and as the young folks say .... Yo!

The Shower Of Death!

A babybear.

The Senor Boabie and Peter.

The real Bilobear.

Note broken lock on my suitcase .... Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Team photo.

Dropper modeling Gio Goi.

The Slater modeling Fred Perry and Scottish teeth.

Fud!

Fudder!

Good day sunshine.

Hmmmmn.

Mick Murcia.

The Senor Boabie invades the stage.

Adam hard at work doing a 'set list' i.e. wish list in Murcia.

Drew, Drew's haircut and A.J.

THE SHOWER OF DEATH!!!!

Flew in Easyjet from Glasgow to Alicante yesterday for Murcia's SOS festival. The flight was a horrorshow but thanks to Easyjet's smashing system of speedy boarding i.e. pay eight quid to juke the queue I got a prime seat to run off as soon as we landed and escape the baying hoards of pink stetsoned hen parties blowing penis shaped whistles all the way and what seemed to be every thug in Glasgow going on holiday at the same time. The guy beside me was obviously a veteran of such flights. Such is the demand for booze that the trolley often doesn't reach the back seats before landing! He bought six vodkas and three cans of lager for himself as soon as we took of and got steadily more pissed and steadily more lairy as the flight progressed.

It was quite funny watching people stagger to the toilet and open everything with tissues (swine flu). I imagine if they came into contact with any virus it'd immediately be killed with the amount of alcohol swilling around their system.

I'd also like to give a special big 'FUCK YOU' mention to the old twats on their golf outing who thought it was hilarious to camp it up and mince around and generally insult the boy on check in because they had decided he was gay. He may have been, he may not, that's his business but it seems these dicks had a more finely tuned gaydar than most though .... closet and over-compensating mehinks!

Anyhoo, my driver wasn't there to meet me and had parked about half a mile away across a motorway when he eventually turned up but he was a nice bloke and we chatted (him: pidgin English / me: pidgin Spanish = pidgin Spanglish) about footballl, Barcelona (even though we were in Murcia, our mutual dislike of Chelsea FC (Ashley Cole, he ees wankers, how you say?) and the Godlike genius that is Henrik Larsson.

Got dropped off at the hotel to meet the Three Stooges (Brucie, Big Baby Slater and The Boabie). Had a few beers and tapas, Iain got all McMeldrew on us and sloped off in a huff (as he normally does when a bill arrives), Kenny then went back to the hotel and me and The Brucie went to have a wander in the town centre. Lovely warm night and a couple of glasses of chilled rose on the terrace of a bar suited us fine before a taxi home and bed. I was kind of hoping the golf boys would pass by because the sight of myself and The Brucie sipping rose in such a romantic setting would have been guaranteed to turn them out of the closet.

Woke up to a lovely day in a lovely room in a lovely hotel with a lovely pool .... perfect. The rest of the party seem to be ok with their travel and we all intend to have a smashing time. Just of out for some lunch in a small tapas bar along the street before having a dip.

I just had a bath which was lovely but the shower had been fascinating me since I cast my eyes on it. So I hopped in. It resembles what a shower in the year 2000 should look like if you were watching Blue Peter in 1973. All sort of nobs and pipes and nozzles .... I had to have a go.

Well at first nothing came out, then something came out the bottom about shin height then something came out the showerhead then a load of high pressure jets came searing out of pinholes all over and I nearly fouled the shower stall. This wasn't hi tech relaxation and hygiene this was a torture chamber in my hotel room toilet! Whoever designed this must have been head of torture at Franco's military college in a new career. Not only that but it looked like he forgot to include a plug hole in the contraption because I am now nursing my wounds on my bed and watching the overflow from the shower into the bathroom slowly ooze out into the bedroom! I shall not be trying that again!

Righto, back in the old suite after a nice walk. Bit short of eateries when we went out. Plenty of places but we chose to wander during siesta so most of them were closed. Found a very pleasant bar to dine in though, boquerones, blood sausage and patatas .... delicious washed down with a tasty (albeit tiny) glass of the local beer. Belly satisfied for a while, a short while. Breakfast was smashing too. Fresh fruit salad (non-fizzy thankfully), asparagus, jamon, tortilla, bacon, walnuts, chorizo, tomatoes and scrambled egg. It was self service and eat as much as you like .... so I did! Now I only have a few hours to wait until catering. I may try and get an extra ticket so I can have dinner and then a supper later.

Everyone's here now barring Mick who is coming in on a later flight. All are doing their own thing some eating, some resting .... Me, The Brucie and Senor Boabie (see what I did there) exposed ourselves poolside for a little while and frightened the locals with our paleness. I had my camera but I thought it best to refrain from taking any snaps though Senor Boabie would have been perfect for setting the white balance I'd say.

So, now it's just the waiting game for dinner and the show and I am drooling at the prospects both hold.

Righto, another few hours later and another bubbly bath with my book, mmmmmm. I avoided a second round with the Shower Of Death and had a quick hose down with the bathrooms second shower (yes, it's that posh) it's got two sinks! Two I tells ye! Oh the loneliness! I had no-one to share my sinks with. I could have asked Senor McBoabie but I dread to consider the repercussions of such a move. Definite pregnancy for one of us .... I'd like to think him!

So, almost time for lobby call. Mooch about the site, visit CATERING and do the show. I can hear the festival from my room and there're fireworks and everything! Woooooo!

Oh, I am quite looking forward to this!

Righto, a quick update from my hotel in Hasselt. Got a good night's kip. Everyone was totally fucked from yesterday's efforts .... a true tale of bravery and perseverance against all odds.

We got back from the festival in Murcia to the hotel about four in the morning and I was dearly looking forward to my scratcher. Oooops, shit I just realised it's lobby call, gotta go .... will write more later! Suffice to say The Boabie went beyond the call of duty with his spiderman skilles and quite literally took one for the team when 'diving on the grenade' in Frankfurt airport. The man needs a medal .... and locking up for his own safety and the safety of all those around him.

Now then, back online at €22 for 24hrs in the Luxembourg hotel where a burger is only €19 and a pint €6.50. Good Lord! However, the journey was sedate compared to yesterday and the mood in the camp is fine.

Yesterday however .... The shambles show in Murcia was fun for all. Met some nicey nice people, hello These Dancing Days (don't forget to say Hi to Helen for me). All in all a good time had by all. It was a late finish so got back to hotel in the early hours to discover that there was no electricity in the room. Farcical behaviour followed (which I won't go into) and I eventually got to bed by the light of my trusty zippo only to be greeted by the dawn chorus of The Brucie and The Slater bellowing out of the windows, so not much of a kip was had. Oh Well!

Lobby call beckoned and I made my way to the lift only to see out the side window quite a spectacular sight. Senor Boabie had decided to go walkabout on a 1ft wide ledge six floors up. The man either has a death wish or some gadgets attached to his wrists which squirt out spider's web. 

However, airport was made and boarding smooth. Then we got to Frankfurt on a plane 25 min late but not worried as we had 35 minutes before the Brussels connection left. "Not good enough" said the rather unhelpful lady at check in and even though the plane wasn't leaving for another twenty minutes at this point we were refused boarding privileges. Drat!

The other flights offered couldn't get there on time for stage so the only alternative was a car. Problem was, our luggage was "still in the system". It's at times like these that apoplexy is a possibility but it's often better to adopt an aura of zen-like calm .... we tried, and mostly succeeded .... apart from Herr Boabie (at this point).

We had to resign ourselves to the loss of a lovely Gibson acoustic and an Epiphone heavyhorse but being the forward thinkers we are had decided to take an acoustic as hand luggage in the event that our luggage would go amiss. We simply had to hunker down and wait for the personal luggage to come through. It eventually did .... three quarters of an hour later and (and I can only assume here not accuse) €xxxx missing from a padlocked pouch within my trolley case. Lock broken, pouch rifled etc etc. Not happy obviously but the only thing on my mind was getting to Hasselt so as not to let the fans down. Pretty philosophical about it even now because in the light of the odyssey we endured yesterday to even have done the show was good enough for me.

We wouldn't even have gotten the luggage and made the show hadn't it been for the valour of The Herr Boabie who, while I was away, spotted a suspicious bag had been discarded by one of the carousels and was about to become a major incident (area cleared / taped off etc). Unfortunately it was the area our bags were due to come through .... a potential wait of hours and no appearance in Hasselt!

Showing bravery beyond the call of duty boosted by a little Dutch courage (I assume) The Herr Boabie penetrated the police cordon and heroically tackled the 'bomb' himself, nearly getting arrested and / or shot in the process. The bomb eventually turned out to be an half eaten sandwich ....

God bless you The Herr Boabie!

Righto kind having a conundrum at the moment. Do I start another post or just carry on regardless? Who knows? 

Anyhow, where did I leave off? Luxembourg ....

Odd place, great gig. Fuck it. I am tired. I only came on to post some snaps so here they are.

Travelled for ten hours today and currently in a proper soulless hotel in Porto and the mob are arriving tomorrow. Solo show so only the Superinnas, The Boabie and The Slater coming in on the plane. Mowgli is already 'in country' and traveling by other means which means I'll see him later. Righto, knackered so I'll concentrate on photos and then snooze for a fresh start early tomorrow.

Random Snaps From My Recent Travels.

Peter, Jai and Stephen.

A Doggy.

Messrs Doherty, Steet and Coxon.

The Dohingtons.

Happy Campers.

Fuck Forever, Dundee.

Mr Slater's Parrot.

The Icing On The Dundee Cake!

Am I Rude?

I have just been told I am rude. I don't like that, but who would. I know I am often cheeky but not so much rude. There's a vast difference between being cheeky and being rude.

The person who told me I was rude was a Babyshambles fan who had come to see Peter play solo in Norwich. I remember this show but I don't remember being rude to anyone. I did tell some lads to fuck off later in the evening when they started getting a bit lairy and creepy but that wasn't rudeness it was more ehm .... shall we say stating a fact. i.e. For every action there is a reaction. For every act there are consequences. Start shouting abuse at me and the crew at two in the morning then there will certainly a reaction, a consequence and being told to "Fuck off ya trumpet!" is quite a minor consequence really when you consider the options.

When it is a gig day I do have a bit of a personality change. My business partner and even my parents have even been quite taken aback by it. My only concern is to get the act onstage, have a great show and get the band and crew safely on the bus stowed away for the next show.

I have developed what I would describe my 'show day head' which could appear as abrupt or short. It is often taken for abrupt, short and even rude by people when they encounter me. It's normally described as rude when they are not getting what they want.

You see that's what it really comes down to ....

If I am asked a question I will consider my answer and give it. This answer is generally a 'yes' or a 'no'. 'Yes' never requires an explanation but say no to someone and they're gonna want a detailed fuckin' essay on why not? Either that or they are going to want to change my mind. Neither of these things are going to happen so when they start down that road I politely say 'no' again. That'll be it all starting over again with the 'why not's?' and the 'go on's' .... sorry folks I ain't got the time and I have made my mind up for considered reasons and if you don't like that because you're not getting what / where you want then what can I say really .... it's you who are ruder and more selfish than me.

Other potential sources of my rudeness ....

1. The Bus.

The bus is our home. The bus is where we sleep. The bus is where we relax. The bus is where we argue. The bus is where we make up. The bus is where we store our private possessions and valuables. Am I rude because I won't let you on it? Am I rude because when I find you messing with the door in a dark car park I tell you to stop it? Am I rude when I stop you writing 'I Love U Pete' in marker pen on the trailer? Would you go up to the front door of someone you don't know have a fiddle with the door and if it's unlocked have a wander about inside? No, didn't think so. So that's me not being rude there either.

2. The Dressing Room.

Now quite why someone would want to hang out in a dressing room is beyond me. In general they are small, cramped, often smelly and have absolutely NOTHING to do in them. Believe me, I know, I have been bored senseless in enough of them in my time. The idea that this is some kind of mystical shangrila, a door to a magical land of rock 'n' roll fun and mystery is .... frankly a load of old cobblers. To be honest most of the band and crew avoid the dressing room until just before the gig and leave it shortly after the gig. Before the show the band want (and often need) to be alone to prepare themselves so if someone had managed to get in (unlikely) and I ask them to leave this is not rude although it is often taken as such. If someone tries to get in after th show and I won't let them in it's because either a.) they're not supposed to be there or b.) the band have just come off stage after having poured their hearts out for an hour and a bit and maybe would like  breather and a bit of peace and quiet.

Another thing about the dressing room is that very often it's another private place to store valuables or instruments and for this reasons understandably off limits.

At The Troxy show I had the misfortune of meeting a minor celebrity and her coterie of lickspittles but every cloud has a silver lining .... I had the pleasure of booting their sorry arses out of the dressing room. Picture this .... the band are on stage of the last night of the tour, a tour which a lot of people had put a lot of blood, sweat and tears (literally) into, I walk past the dressing room and hear a racket going on in there.

Now this was a new venue and the securty staff perhaps not as experienced as I am sure they will become. My pass system may appear complex but it is actually pretty simple. Band, crew, management and assistants will have a laminate. No-one without a laminate gets in the dressing room without one unless accompanied by someone with an escort laminate (of which there are only three). So quite how ten people managed to get through this system and esconce themselves in the dressing room I am not sure but it happened.

Anyhow, the dressing room contained all our food, drinks, clothes, some bags and a smoke alarm. A smoke alarm which had been redundant because not even the band were smoking in there because of the punative fine associated with it and the fact that there was a smoking exit about five feet away. Did these nobs care? Nah, not their problem.

So, I'm walking down the corridor to get something mid-show, and that's the important bit .... mid-show, I hear the noise from the dressing room and go in to find little Miss Sunshine and her hangers on helping themselves to our hospitality. Now, they got their tickets for free (not from me I may add), they got into the show, they had passes which would have gotten them into an aftershow party if we decided to have one but .... not good enough. They didn't even have the courtesy to watch the performance. I am sure you can imagine what happened next but was that me being rude? I don't think so. I think the rudeness was coming from their side not mine. How disrespectful is that? They were further annoyed when they tried to get on the side of the stage (a working area). They certainly didn't want to watch from the front where you can actually hear the show properly. God forbid they mix with the 'civilians' (fuck I hate that term, only ever used by arseholes) and see / hear the show properly. They'd rather be seen stageside because it makes them 'special' .... fuck 'em!

2. Access To The Band (Peter In Particular).

Now, I have never worked with a band who are as genuinely close to their fans as Babyshambles. Whenever appropriate they will spend as much time as possible with them, keep in touch on the internet, hang out, get them involved, give them work experience, sneak them into sold out shows, make arrangements for them to be more comfortable at shows, fight with heavy handed security staff, monitor the crowd for arseholes or danger situations, pull a fan in distress out of the crowd, sink a beer with them etc etc etc.

I also fully understand the love the fans have for the band members and how special they are to their lives for a million different reasons. I know that it's the dream of many fans to meet their heroes, have a chat etc etc but sometimes this isn't possible. The reasons for this vary from the fact that they might be sleeping or need a bit of time on their own to the fact that there may be a crush or a scrum outside the bus which is potentially dangerous for the band member or the fan alike. If that is the case then I will pull them indoors and close it until the crowd disperses to a safe level. Sorry but that just the way it is and if that means you didn't get you ticket signed it may have been worth it because it may have meant that some kid didn't get their arm broken.

I'm trying to come up with other examples when I may be perceived as rude but I am at a loss now. Suggestions welcome ....

Oh! There's is one .... the fact that I am a curmudgeonly bastard with no manners!

My Dinner (Or Lunch If Your English).

I just ate a bowl of pasta which while very tasty was absolutely enormous. I don't eat much on tour and my stomach and appetite seem to shrink. However, since my return it's been getting back to it's normal level. Today it surpassed itself. I looked at the mound in front of me thinking 'I'm never going to get through all that' but I did and now my stomach hurts .... but in a nice way.
Only two and a half hours until dinner though but I reckon I'll be raring to go again in no time. I have pork chops, which will be delicious, but no sides yet. I have an idea that I may just go to the Co-op and get some macarroni cheese and cauliflower cheese .... now that sounds like a feast to me!

Rainy Gourock.

Finally got home after a slog of about six weeks all told. Had a lot of fun, some ups, some downs, some scrapes, some adventures, some misadventures, met a lot of lovely people, heard a LOT of great music, hung out with some old friends, hung out with some new friends ....

Post tour blues isn't uncommon. It's odd waking up without the imminent adrenaline buzz of the show to look forward.

That's why days off on tour are strange. You really need them, you really do. Mine however seem to be spent in an unrelaxed state of knowing there's always something to be done, in an unfamiliar (though generally pretty comfortable) hotel room, wondering whether to go out, stay in, read, sleep, watch telly .... an odd state of affairs.

We got back from France on Saturday too late to get he train back to Scotland so I spent most of the day hunting down a hotel. I don't know what was happening in London but my travel agent couldn't find me one for love nor money. I eventually fell upon the kindness of friends (Sarah from The Good Mixer) who made a prompt call and I found myself in a room above a pub in Belsize Park. Five star it was not .... in fact it wouldn't merit one star really as it had no lock on the door, in fact a big hole in the door where a lock used to be but my head was down by ten and out like a light. It was a nice pub but I couldn't even muster the energy for a pint.

Train back to Scotland the next day .... Sunday service sheesh! All off at Carlisle for a 'luxury' i.e. decrepit coach to Glasgow then onwards to Gourock and getting my head down back at the folks.

Home cooking on the table! My own bed in for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. I even struggled to stay awake so I could roll over a few times and luxuriate and get that Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh feeling a few times. Thirteen straight hours sleep. Heaven.

Back up and at it Monday though and looking forward to the next batch!

Couple of snaps arrived from a photographer chum which I'll stick up and a few more later maybe. I didn't take many photies on this run. I don't know why because I really should have for the scrapbook. It's all in the head though and it'll stay there as one big lump filed in the Happy Memories archive of the brain.

Aaah, the photies came out at the top and in the wrong order. One day I'll get used to this malarkey.