4Q – Cornhill Vaults, Lincoln (with Blitzkrieg)

 

Cumi and Crud in the passion wagon

After the shambles in Huddersfield, we figured Blitzkrieg would’ve had the sense to do a runner and swerve the next night’s gig. Fred the drummer had been a piss-soaked liability and the band were literally fighting outside the venue while their set fell apart indoors, so we weren’t expecting to see them again. With that in mind, we killed a bit of time wandering Huddersfield, then spotted in Sounds that the UK Subs were due to play in Nottingham. Decision made: let’s gatecrash the Subs.

We pointed the Fiesta van towards Nottingham, stopping off in Sheffield on the way, only to find out the Subs weren’t in Nottingham at all but Retford. Typical. So off to Retford we went, hung about waiting, no Subs in sight. On a whim we rang the pub in Lincoln where the gig was booked — and to our amazement Blitzkrieg had shown up. Fred must’ve sobered up just enough to locate his sticks. Cue a mad dash to Lincoln.

The Cornhill Vaults was like a punk rock version of Liverpool’s Cavern — low, arched ceilings, brickwork, sweat dripping down the walls, bikers and students crammed in shoulder to shoulder. Blitzkrieg insisted on playing first this time, just to make sure Fred was still in a fit state to hold his drumsticks the right way round. Fair play, they played a half-decent set, even if vocalist Spike blew his nose all over me when I called him an ugly cunt. All taken in good humour, apparently.

Before we went on, a lump of resin was presented to us and a makeshift potato pipe, happily getting most of the bands stoned. Matt had only just joined but he’d already slotted into the anarchy like he’d always been there. He even reckoned last night’s Huddersfield debacle was a laugh. With both bands all off our tits, we hit the stage at 10pm.

We tore into Nein Werk and straight into Video Party. The set was the same as Huddersfield — Nein Werk / Video Party / VD / Not Now Not Never / 1984 / Dope Fiend / PMT / Jerks / God Save The Queen / Twisted Tabloids / Systemisation — but this time the crowd lapped it up. Bikers bellowing, students pogoing under the arches, the room bouncing like it was built for us.

Highlights? I did an impromptu Bruce Forsyth impression on a stool, which ended with me toppling onto my pedals and crashing into Spike and Gaz Sumner. Cumi got shoved into a biker mid-song — thankfully the biker laughed instead of lamping him. Chaos, but good chaos.

We came off to a proper cheer, walked away fifty quid better off, and with the promise of another booking down the line. Chalk that up as a win. Even made a few new fans, including Chantelle, a peroxide blonde who turned up with her leg in plaster and still managed to cheer us on all night. Dedication.

The drive home was unexpectedly picturesque — Worksop, Stockport, winding cross-country roads — all under cover of darkness. Took us three and a half hours, rolled into Colwyn Bay at 3:30am. Huddersfield already felt like a bad memory. Lincoln had made up for it.

Line-up: Cumi Pants (voc), Neil Crud (gtr), Wayne The Bastard (bass), Matt Vinyl (drms).