Post by DAVE HURRY on Dec 1, 2008 16:25:38 GMT
HI-ON NIJMEGEN
Rockcafe Backstage, Nijmegen – 6:20pm
The weekend started at 4AM Friday morning when the rest of the band turned up at Manic Towers. After regaling me briefly with a recap of the previous evening’s Swindon near-miss, we got our heads down. A few hours kip later and we were on our way to Dover for the 9.45 sailing to Calais. The seas were a little choppy, but breakfast stayed on board and we were soon on the other side. Bruce "it's fun getting sprayed in the face!" Dugginson gave us his best impression of the sea (which one was apparently not to throw things at), which caused high amusement for the rest of the weekend. Imagine Kermit the Frog, leaning back slightly while filing a chunder report…
After deboarding, The Van of Terror rumbled towards Nijmegen. The fuel gauge appears to magically reach “full” upon plugging anything into the cigarette lighter (just one of the fun things this vehicle likes to tease us with), and we were running on fumes by the time we stopped to fill up. Adrian "dog dick sandwich" Swift had driven the beast from 'Ull (where he’s from, you know) to Leeds to Swindon to Dartford to Dover to somewhere in Belgium. As such, the brave Mr. Eddie "don’t be a c*nt" The Head did a good couple of hours behind the wheel to allow our resident driver a rest. A few noisy gear changes and sat nav squiggles later we arrived at the Rockcafe Backstage, Nijmegen. I was disappointed to see that the crazy disco floor outside the club next door had disappeared, but this feeling was vanquished by the appearance of much “rock juice” in the fridge downstairs…
Sound check was a long, leisurely affair. Brucey was righteously annoyed about the PA, being that the flown speakers were situated behind the monitors - which equaled feedback! - and the lack of power to boost his voice above the din created by the rest of us. It's a bit of a chain reaction you see. Nicko "I’m the Queen of Weetabix!" McBrain Jnr hits them tubs very hard indeed. Speed “warms the cockles, breaks the ankles!” Harris compensates by turning up. Nicko's cymbals (hit with gusto) occupy the higher frequencies used by guitarists, so myself and Swifty turn up. Our sound goes through our legs, and as a result we can’t really hear ourselves. It most likely converges on Mr. Dugginson! In a confined space, difficulty ensues. In a really, terrifyingly confined space, singers get frustrated. And rightly so!
(I appear to have spoken too soon about our transport – I’ve just been informed that the side door has fallen off the van!)
Nevertheless, we soldiered on and ran through a few numbers. We were to play two completely different set lists (bar Hallowed and Iron Maiden, which you can’t not play), with a total of 31 songs. Pretty rocktastic, pop pickers. Your humble narrator completely failed to learn one song, but feels he can probably wing it. We’ll see! Off for dinner then…
Home, some time later!
Well well well, boys and girls. That rocked!
Picking up where we left off, we headed out for some grub. We passed our old friend (the Nimeegs Jopie Dumphandel), resolving to have a butchers in there on the morrow. After some deliberation and general indecisiveness on what to consume, we settled on what seemed to be a chicken skin kebab with spunk sauce, accompanied by a less-than-VfM salad. An agreeable meal, although I stayed away from the baby batter dressing (which caused some intriguing aromas to be released onstage later from my compatriots hind quarters….yow!). Meandering back to the venue for a few more tasty beverages, we set about getting ready for the evening’s entertainment.
The gig was a storming success, and all concerned had a whale of a time. An hour or so of the evening was recorded by in-house CCTV – while not really of useable quality for the website (the sound was distorting as we are a little on the deafening side), it’s nice to have a memento of the trip. If it weren’t for that, all we’d have to commemorate the journey would be former pieces of van!
After a bit of standing about in varying stages of drunkenness (the joys of not having to pack up the gear!), we headed back to Carola’s place (the kind lady who had been charged with putting us up). I polished off the beer and headed to the attic, where Eddie and I had been consigned to sleep as the biggest snorers. They tell me the whole house was shaking, but that could have been more down to Speed Harris’ thunderous anus than anything else.
A very lazy morning followed. I brewed some fantastic coffee for the caffeine addicts amongst us, while Carola spread out a fine feast of cold meats and amazing chocolate sprinkles for toast. These were superb. I had a little trouble with the physics of it all, but once Speed had pointed me in the right chocolatey direction (ooh err) the product was tasty in “hundreds and thousands” of different ways.
We headed out the door in the early afternoon to an absolutely beautiful wintry day. The snow had been falling and had settled all around, making for some spectacular views. A leisurely stroll in to town took us over the railway, and past the “House of Billiards” (does exactly what it says on the tin). Your humble narrator was nearly leveled by passing cyclists, but managed to stay upright for the rest of the trek. Eddie was determined to do a bit of sightseeing – “I don’t care if it’s THE bridge, just so long as I get a photo of a bridge I’ll be happy!” – and as such disappeared round a corner every now and then. I had visions of him in all his get-up chucking the ten-ton at tourists! We thought we’d lost Mr. Dugginson at one point – he’d gone off looking for batteries but seemed to have walked to Eindhoven before finding any. Either that or he was baffling locals with his sea impression…
The Jopie Dumphandel was next on the agenda, which in a grand twist of fate was a mere stone’s throw from not one but TWO bridges! Eddie was spoilt for choice. I tell you what folks, it was colder than Hades down by the water. The Dumphandel provided amusement for a short while, with some fairly cheap army surplus type stuff (attempts to get McBrain dressed up in a sailors uniform were sadly in vain). Speed and Eddie disappeared off for smokes, and after spending at least 4 seconds looking for them the rest of us dived in the nearest bar. A short beverage (and a bit of a perv at the waitress) later and we appeared back at the venue. Sound check was a formality, with a little tweaking of the PA resulting in A Slightly Happier Singer. Post sound check we were whisked back to Carola’s for some eats and drinks with another pot of spectacular coffee brewed by yours truly – I may have found my true calling at last!
The second night’s ear-splitting assignment was another rampant success, despite a few hairy moments for our rake of a drummer. Poor Nicko’s snare drum stand was in a bad state (did I mention he hits ‘em hard?), resulting in him playing the second half of ‘2 Minutes To Midnight’ with the snare drum on his knees. Terror! Pain! Suffering! Torment! Swifty and Speed effected a quick repair while Bruce and I entertained the crowd with a quiet number or two. We were good to go shortly, but by Infinite Dreams the bloody thing had failed again. Cue an unlikely jazz version of Holy Smoke and a re-arrangement of Children of the Damned, by the end of which the whole band were in full swing. The rest of the show was more or less without serious incident (apart from the oft-repeated mistake of missing a verse of Stranger!) and we closed out our weekend with a bang. And more beer!
The after show party was more fun than you could shake a stick at. Melvin was sadly absent (perhaps he was turned away at the border - there was to be no rice production in Nijmegen), but Mr. McBrain found himself in a fairly advanced state of refreshment, proclaiming himself the monarch of a well-known cereal to all who would listen. Bless. We packed down leisurely and headed back to the digs. I was cream crackered and headed off to me bed almost straight away. It was an early departure, and it seemed that no sooner had my head hit the pillow it was time to leave. I tasked myself with waking up the clan and we groggily piled in the Van of Suffering to start the long journey home. Speed took the wheel and I got a bit more kip before we stopped off somewhere in Belgium. Bruce went for an ‘extraordinarily long poo’ and Eddie took the wheel for the drive to Calais. We managed to miss our booked ferry, but this did not cost us the charge we’d expected. It did cost us a couple of hours, but most of that was taken up queuing for sustenance in the port café!
The ferry journey back was pleasant enough. Eddie and I stocked up on duty free booze and Mr. Swift attempted to get some kip in the van. Bad idea, it’s bloody noisy down there! Still, he had to try – there was a long drive to negotiate once I was safely back in me castle. Eddie commandeered the van back to Manic Towers (with a little pant-shatting accidental reversing on the way off the ferry – oops!), and after a quick comfort break the rest of the crew buggered off on their separate ways. Apparently Mister Swift saw some ghost trees on the way back. Scary stuff!
Talks of going back next year are already underway, possibly three nights. Or a week. I get the feeling that the Rockcafe Backstage would have us as a house band. A two week residency, playing an album in it’s entirety every night? I can dream!
Til next time…
Yours,
Dave “Mother Nature's brown revenge” Hurry
Rockcafe Backstage, Nijmegen – 6:20pm
The weekend started at 4AM Friday morning when the rest of the band turned up at Manic Towers. After regaling me briefly with a recap of the previous evening’s Swindon near-miss, we got our heads down. A few hours kip later and we were on our way to Dover for the 9.45 sailing to Calais. The seas were a little choppy, but breakfast stayed on board and we were soon on the other side. Bruce "it's fun getting sprayed in the face!" Dugginson gave us his best impression of the sea (which one was apparently not to throw things at), which caused high amusement for the rest of the weekend. Imagine Kermit the Frog, leaning back slightly while filing a chunder report…
After deboarding, The Van of Terror rumbled towards Nijmegen. The fuel gauge appears to magically reach “full” upon plugging anything into the cigarette lighter (just one of the fun things this vehicle likes to tease us with), and we were running on fumes by the time we stopped to fill up. Adrian "dog dick sandwich" Swift had driven the beast from 'Ull (where he’s from, you know) to Leeds to Swindon to Dartford to Dover to somewhere in Belgium. As such, the brave Mr. Eddie "don’t be a c*nt" The Head did a good couple of hours behind the wheel to allow our resident driver a rest. A few noisy gear changes and sat nav squiggles later we arrived at the Rockcafe Backstage, Nijmegen. I was disappointed to see that the crazy disco floor outside the club next door had disappeared, but this feeling was vanquished by the appearance of much “rock juice” in the fridge downstairs…
Sound check was a long, leisurely affair. Brucey was righteously annoyed about the PA, being that the flown speakers were situated behind the monitors - which equaled feedback! - and the lack of power to boost his voice above the din created by the rest of us. It's a bit of a chain reaction you see. Nicko "I’m the Queen of Weetabix!" McBrain Jnr hits them tubs very hard indeed. Speed “warms the cockles, breaks the ankles!” Harris compensates by turning up. Nicko's cymbals (hit with gusto) occupy the higher frequencies used by guitarists, so myself and Swifty turn up. Our sound goes through our legs, and as a result we can’t really hear ourselves. It most likely converges on Mr. Dugginson! In a confined space, difficulty ensues. In a really, terrifyingly confined space, singers get frustrated. And rightly so!
(I appear to have spoken too soon about our transport – I’ve just been informed that the side door has fallen off the van!)
Nevertheless, we soldiered on and ran through a few numbers. We were to play two completely different set lists (bar Hallowed and Iron Maiden, which you can’t not play), with a total of 31 songs. Pretty rocktastic, pop pickers. Your humble narrator completely failed to learn one song, but feels he can probably wing it. We’ll see! Off for dinner then…
Home, some time later!
Well well well, boys and girls. That rocked!
Picking up where we left off, we headed out for some grub. We passed our old friend (the Nimeegs Jopie Dumphandel), resolving to have a butchers in there on the morrow. After some deliberation and general indecisiveness on what to consume, we settled on what seemed to be a chicken skin kebab with spunk sauce, accompanied by a less-than-VfM salad. An agreeable meal, although I stayed away from the baby batter dressing (which caused some intriguing aromas to be released onstage later from my compatriots hind quarters….yow!). Meandering back to the venue for a few more tasty beverages, we set about getting ready for the evening’s entertainment.
The gig was a storming success, and all concerned had a whale of a time. An hour or so of the evening was recorded by in-house CCTV – while not really of useable quality for the website (the sound was distorting as we are a little on the deafening side), it’s nice to have a memento of the trip. If it weren’t for that, all we’d have to commemorate the journey would be former pieces of van!
After a bit of standing about in varying stages of drunkenness (the joys of not having to pack up the gear!), we headed back to Carola’s place (the kind lady who had been charged with putting us up). I polished off the beer and headed to the attic, where Eddie and I had been consigned to sleep as the biggest snorers. They tell me the whole house was shaking, but that could have been more down to Speed Harris’ thunderous anus than anything else.
A very lazy morning followed. I brewed some fantastic coffee for the caffeine addicts amongst us, while Carola spread out a fine feast of cold meats and amazing chocolate sprinkles for toast. These were superb. I had a little trouble with the physics of it all, but once Speed had pointed me in the right chocolatey direction (ooh err) the product was tasty in “hundreds and thousands” of different ways.
We headed out the door in the early afternoon to an absolutely beautiful wintry day. The snow had been falling and had settled all around, making for some spectacular views. A leisurely stroll in to town took us over the railway, and past the “House of Billiards” (does exactly what it says on the tin). Your humble narrator was nearly leveled by passing cyclists, but managed to stay upright for the rest of the trek. Eddie was determined to do a bit of sightseeing – “I don’t care if it’s THE bridge, just so long as I get a photo of a bridge I’ll be happy!” – and as such disappeared round a corner every now and then. I had visions of him in all his get-up chucking the ten-ton at tourists! We thought we’d lost Mr. Dugginson at one point – he’d gone off looking for batteries but seemed to have walked to Eindhoven before finding any. Either that or he was baffling locals with his sea impression…
The Jopie Dumphandel was next on the agenda, which in a grand twist of fate was a mere stone’s throw from not one but TWO bridges! Eddie was spoilt for choice. I tell you what folks, it was colder than Hades down by the water. The Dumphandel provided amusement for a short while, with some fairly cheap army surplus type stuff (attempts to get McBrain dressed up in a sailors uniform were sadly in vain). Speed and Eddie disappeared off for smokes, and after spending at least 4 seconds looking for them the rest of us dived in the nearest bar. A short beverage (and a bit of a perv at the waitress) later and we appeared back at the venue. Sound check was a formality, with a little tweaking of the PA resulting in A Slightly Happier Singer. Post sound check we were whisked back to Carola’s for some eats and drinks with another pot of spectacular coffee brewed by yours truly – I may have found my true calling at last!
The second night’s ear-splitting assignment was another rampant success, despite a few hairy moments for our rake of a drummer. Poor Nicko’s snare drum stand was in a bad state (did I mention he hits ‘em hard?), resulting in him playing the second half of ‘2 Minutes To Midnight’ with the snare drum on his knees. Terror! Pain! Suffering! Torment! Swifty and Speed effected a quick repair while Bruce and I entertained the crowd with a quiet number or two. We were good to go shortly, but by Infinite Dreams the bloody thing had failed again. Cue an unlikely jazz version of Holy Smoke and a re-arrangement of Children of the Damned, by the end of which the whole band were in full swing. The rest of the show was more or less without serious incident (apart from the oft-repeated mistake of missing a verse of Stranger!) and we closed out our weekend with a bang. And more beer!
The after show party was more fun than you could shake a stick at. Melvin was sadly absent (perhaps he was turned away at the border - there was to be no rice production in Nijmegen), but Mr. McBrain found himself in a fairly advanced state of refreshment, proclaiming himself the monarch of a well-known cereal to all who would listen. Bless. We packed down leisurely and headed back to the digs. I was cream crackered and headed off to me bed almost straight away. It was an early departure, and it seemed that no sooner had my head hit the pillow it was time to leave. I tasked myself with waking up the clan and we groggily piled in the Van of Suffering to start the long journey home. Speed took the wheel and I got a bit more kip before we stopped off somewhere in Belgium. Bruce went for an ‘extraordinarily long poo’ and Eddie took the wheel for the drive to Calais. We managed to miss our booked ferry, but this did not cost us the charge we’d expected. It did cost us a couple of hours, but most of that was taken up queuing for sustenance in the port café!
The ferry journey back was pleasant enough. Eddie and I stocked up on duty free booze and Mr. Swift attempted to get some kip in the van. Bad idea, it’s bloody noisy down there! Still, he had to try – there was a long drive to negotiate once I was safely back in me castle. Eddie commandeered the van back to Manic Towers (with a little pant-shatting accidental reversing on the way off the ferry – oops!), and after a quick comfort break the rest of the crew buggered off on their separate ways. Apparently Mister Swift saw some ghost trees on the way back. Scary stuff!
Talks of going back next year are already underway, possibly three nights. Or a week. I get the feeling that the Rockcafe Backstage would have us as a house band. A two week residency, playing an album in it’s entirety every night? I can dream!
Til next time…
Yours,
Dave “Mother Nature's brown revenge” Hurry
