Birmingham, Jug of Ale



The gig is pretty manic, but still doesn't shine through like the famed bristol gig, 25/07/95. Scarfo were good, Ash were good, and in typical teen destruction style, the floor of the upstairs gig was in danger of collapsing on top of all the disappointed people down below who couldn't get a ticket. Imagine the scene: you can't get a ticket for an Ash gig. You console yourself by having a quiet cry into a pint. You hear the bass rumble, and the muffle of vocals. For a split secondit all regains its clarity. But unfortunately, Ash and all 200-odd sweaty bastards have fallen on top of, and squished you.


Oh well, there's always Ultimate Orange.


Derby, Wherehouse



How much fun would trashing a hotel be? We still want to find the answer to this one but our tour manager (T.M.) Allisair seems to thing we know all too well. Here's the score; Roger the Photographer throws a doorknob (which incidentally came off the door of its own accord) out a sixth floor window (quite indiscriminately, i might add) and a few moments later, I am aroused to, "Oi! That fookin' 'it me, y'bastards!" by some poor passer-by who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. So at least his cries of pain and agony were met with sympathy and apologies- no! I think he caught the tail end of my "Suck ma balls!" Oops, i slipped. Oh yeah, Mark and Rampton broke a bed by jumping on it; and Bill, whom you may know as the t-shirt guy at Ash gigs told the manager to fuck off, and that his wife was having Bill's baby.

I think we managed to piss everyone in the hotel off that night. GOOD!



Canterbury, Penny Theatre



Today was not exactly the most eventful day in the world. I think we were all a bit under the weather somewhat, suffering from the events, twists and turns in Derby. The only really interesting thing about the day was the fact that we had a flight to Germany the next day at 7.50am, which meant driving straight to Heathrow from the gig. Eventually, I think I was the last to be awake, having missed the found-somewhere-to-sleep boat, so I made my fine way to the floor of our bouncy bad suspension van, where I received carpet burns on my knees and the only thing I had for a pillow was Bill's coat and Mark's t-shirt. The one fro the gig; yes, the disgusting sweaty one. Off I nodded. I really needed God. Rumour has it, according to Mark that he woke up and saw me sleeping on my back with my arms and legs spread, and head back, mouth open. He was disgusted and tried to forget that scene.


Added on 11/08/2009 by Rick