GIG 11: Bad Manners / Meteors @ Scooter Rally, Castle Donington

There was a Scooter Rally being held in Castle Donington and Jon invited me, it was 8th June, 1985. Old school mate Andy was driving and I was hanging out with Psycho Sandra at the time and I asked her if she wanted to come along. She was called Psycho Sandra for very good reasons! This was a person who was high on life with a punk rock attitude and she lived up to her name. The four of us (including the driver) thought it would be a great idea to drop acid before heading on the three hour journey, and by the time we got there I began to be a bit edgy to say the least. Here I was, the only punk rocker in a huge field full of mods, and being off my box only added to my paranoia as people would mutter ‘Punk’s dead mate’ at me. So imagine my nerve endings, when we entered the main arena and the support band (some mod shite) The Gents were stopped mid-set and a panicky voice is announcing over the PA; he’s pleading with the crowd at the front of the stage to clear the way for an ambulance to get through as someone had just been glassed in the throat and was losing a lot of blood. Shiiit…

It was getting from bad to worse, I kind of fancied Sandra, even though she scared the shit out of me, and she kind of fancied me, but she disappeared for what seemed like hours only to return with a psychobilly lad she had copped off with. While she was away, we watched The Meteors, who were pretty good and I had last year been introduced to their fantastic debut album ‘In Heaven’ (still such a good record), so at least I had something positive to focus on while being surrounded by thousands of fishtail jackets and the smell of shit scooter engines.

By dark Bad Manners were on stage and it was raining. We were still in the throes of the Pink Panther or the Microdot tabs we had taken, so it felt like we were protected from the damp. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, the come-down was fucking awful, five of us crammed into this Vauxhall Cavalier; Andy, Jon and myself trying to sleep, dying to sleep but unable to, twitching uncontrollably in a lysergic loop as Sandra and her psychobilly boyfriend had noisy and violent sex next to us, well, virtually on top of us.

GIG 0010 - Edwin Starr at Poppies, Bodelwyddan

Out of town in Bodelwyddan was Poppies nightclub, which had two dance floors. On a Thursday it was happy hour and we would all descend there to bop to watered down alternative music like Baby I Love You (Ramones), Too Much Too Young (Specials), What Difference Does It Make (The Smiths), Love Cats (Cure) - that kind of stuff. It was quite a good night, Edwin Starr used to appear there on the other dancefloor and I remember watching one of his performances and feeling zero emotion. Normally we seldom strayed from our darkened area. I do remember there being this complete twat dressed like Michael Jackson (Thriller era), kitted out in a suit, trilby hat, hair-beads and one white glove. He had all the moves down to a tee and the DJ would play loads of Jacko-shit as this idiot danced on his own. I ended up some fifteen years later inadvertently employing him… Although not as a Michael Jackson impersonator!

My Thursday nights at Poppies became very regular, often with both my sisters in tow, and with the beer being so cheap (£1 a pint) and Thursday being payday, I soon began skipping work on Fridays due to a horrendous hangover. My boss quickly became wise to this and when I went to collect my wages she’d open my pay packet and take out a tenner and say, 

‘This for you to go out tonight, have a great time. You can have the rest when you come in tomorrow.’ Alcohol is ace though, you wake up the next day all fuzzed out with a banging head. Despite waking up with a face like a badly drawn cunt, a hangover was something I loved having as it was the result of a great night out. My Poppies days were numbered however after I began helping myself to the Guinness. The pump was right at the end of the busy bar and there’d only be one girl working, who was really stressed and stretched. I used to quickly reach over, stick my empty glass under the tap, leave it there until three quarters full and make off with my free drink. My nights became very cheap for a few weeks until I was caught and literally kicked and punched down the road by the bouncers.