"Been Down The Smoke Mate"

Just back from a very enjoyable trip back home, firstly to London, where, in order t keep within budget, we stayed in a disabled room at the "Holiday Lodge" near Covent garden. To be fair we didn´t request the disabled room - it´s all they had left, but save for the very low sink and the window that opened with a winding handle on the wall we didn´t notice much difference. Only problem was that the window didn´t shut properly and so I was shunted over to that side of the bed to dutifully sleep in the way of the icy blast for the duration of our stay.

Girlfriend Nikki and I seldom argue, but when we do it tends to be about getting lost, or arriving late somewhere (usually because we´ve got lost). We´d previously located "The Duchess Theatre" TWICE during the day to make sure we knew where it was, but as we exited the coffee shop in the early evening, we still headed in the wrong direction by about 180 degrees. Or at least we would have done if we had followed her instincts, - earlier I had taken the flak for getting us lost the first time around (we had spent most of the day hunting round in bewildered circles, only to find that if we had set off in the opposite direction from the hotel we would have been in the foyer of the theatre within 5 minutes).

The play itself is a one man affair starring Bob Golding, who takes on the daunting role as one of our greatest ever comics Eric Morecambe, it was a sterling effort and he received a standing ovation on its completion. As we came out into the night air we came across an old fashioned bicycle tethered to the lamp post and thought how wonderful it would have been if Eric would have peeped round the stage door with a long trench coat, flat cap and carrier bag, put on a pair of cycle clips and rode off into the night shouting "We-he-hey!"(But he didn´t).

The train journey back to Blackpool was a long and expensive one, costing about twice as much as the flight from Spain a couple of days before, and we came to a juddering halt as the train in front broke down in Wakefied Station. This ensured that we neatly missed our connection from Leeds by three minutes and had to wait another hour for the next one.

We drank down our 100th coffee of the trip in ´Starbucks´ and then had a nosey round the visitors centre. - Visitors centre? - in Leeds? We eventually made steady progress towards the west coast until a points failure at Poulton-Le-Fylde" which meant shifting from crawling along at 4.5 miles per hour and coming to a blind stop at regular intervals. By the time we arrived it had been dark for about four hours and we had lost an entire day somewhere.

The two days in Blackpool were spent reading about the Queens visit for the Royal Variety Show a couple of days previously and fending off chilblains.

Benidorm Fiestas

To the Spanish, the fiestas are a collection of spectacular street parades, travelling fun fairs, bustling roadside markets and wondrous breathtaking firework displays. To the British it´s a chance to get paralytic dressed as Donald Duck - each to their own eh!?

I would like to start by thanking Chubby Brown, Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne, Bam Bam, Jeff Lynne, Big Chief Sitting Bull, The Virginian, Cocoa the clown (2 of), Reverand green from "Cluedo", Rod Stewart, Amy Winehouse, a team of zombies, a surgeon, sailor, soldier, a nun a honey bee, the "Great Big Sheikh Of Bury", a group of posh looking birds from the roaring 20´s and the many more who turned out for the annual fancy dress day at The Cumberland Bar as part of the climax of the November fiestas here in Benidorm. I personall incurred a blistered inner top lip as a result of the rubber teeth as part of the old "Dick Emery´s vicar routine", but it was well worth it.

Keep Piling On The Sun Cream, Wear A Hat, And Keep Yer Rear End Out Of Sight.

The temperatures here remain gloriously unseasonal, just a few days from November and still it feels like summer, normally at this time I´ve packed away me fair weather gear and have de bobbled the old jumpers with a view to actually wearing the things. Instead I spend the days (and nights) ligging round in me undercrackers with the windows wide open and one of the customers in the bar complained that he has over 20 mosquito bites on his buttocks! (maybe HE should have been ligging around in his underwear). That´s an impressive tally though isn´t it? – 20 - were they all delivered from the same mossie? – couldn´t it find a vein? – must have been the size of a bumble bee when it made its getaway - leaving its victim with an arse like a Belisha Becon no doubt.
The November fiestas are looming and I have sorted the garb for fancy dress day, - I´m going as Dick Emery´s vicar. Have got a long frock coat thing, grey wig and some rubber teeth – these strangely make me look more like Larry Grayson (“what a gay day”, “look at the muck in here” etc.) but I´m sticking with em.

"Let There Be Light..............."

And God Said “Let There Be Light, And There Was Light, And Then There Was No Light, Then There Was A Bit of Of Light, - And Then The Water Went off”

It´s a hardy old annual I know but, electric and Spain simply don´t get on do they? Everybody knows this and it will be forever thus, but why for God´s sake? I remember in the 80´s working in the Canaries, which of course isn´t actually in Spain, but we had power cuts most days of the week then. Usually early evening when I was getting ready, and many´s the time I turned up for work wearing the wrong trousers, toothpaste all around my mouth and underpants on back to front.
Fast forward 20 years and what has changed? – well, bugger all really. It´s not just that we get regular power cuts for no apparent reason either, generally the standard of wiring to household appliances tends to be shambolic. Where I live now the light in the living room consists of 2 bulbs within the fitting, sometimes one comes on but not the other, other times the other one will come on at the expense of its partner, but hardly ever together. It´s a similar story in the bedroom, once turned on they make an eerie fizzing sound, which results in one bulb burning out after a couple of weeks whilst the other one intermittingly goes brighter then dim, goes off altogether, then might come on again 10 minutes later. This has got steadily worse, and being a late night reader this was driving me up the pole. So today I moved the Light standard from the enclosed balcony and placed it next to my bed, there are two lights on this, a big one at the top and a separate arm which will do as a reading light. The only problem with this is that the light at the top sometimes emits a bit of light – even when it´s turned off! but not always. I´d earlier tried an ancient looking 60´s bedside lamp that I´d found in the wardrobe, and that flashed rapidly, like a strobe light, very impressive, but not much good to read by.
In my last apartment, - which was beautifully decorated and very pleasing on the eye, when I turned the bedroom light off, it turned off every other light in the place. Also the living room light would turn itself on! This could happen any time, but usually between 6 and 6.30 in the morning for some indiscernible reason. Two nights ago I read by candlelight as the electric had gone off altogether, and I laid there resigned to my fete, being eaten alive by rampant mossies (my mosquito killer plugs in) and squinting at the flickering pages of cricketer Micheal Atherton´s autobiography whilst listening to the “plink plink” of my fridge freezer gently defrosting. Well, at least I´ve got water, er,.........hang on a minute!

Off We Go Again.

Well, after a 4 month lay off it was my first show back tonight at "Sinatras". It´s always a bit of a trial until I get back into the swing of it, but tonight had added pressure what with my back problems restricting me to a "Quasimodo" type lurch right up until a week ago, the pressure was on. There was a fairly healthy crowd in there, and a fair few familiar faces, "Sinatras" is a bit like a Club back home, with the same people coming back year on year - I like that.

I´m came through well enough without going over arse over apex as soon as I had reason to bend down as I´d envisioned, and I was reasonably well satisfied by the end.

Afterwards, when I´d got changed, this middle aged woman came up to me and asked if she could have a word. - Arh, I thought, maybe a few kind words welcoming me back, a pat on the back for a job half well done, or at worst a bit of constructive criticism. But no. (Bear in mind that this woman had just been sat in the audience during my 45 minute spot), she said "Has anybody handed a Hearing Aid in do you know?" - she thought I was the barman - or I think she did.

Oh I´ve missed all this.

Sporting Dis-honour and Back Pain.

What´s happening to sport these days? What with racing drivers deliberately crashing cars, rugby players buying blood capsules from joke shops and tucking them in their socks, and footballers diving as soon as they glimpse the penalty area? Oh yes and that “woman” athlete from South Africa who won the 800 metres at the world championships sporting a pair of bollocks that would have frightened Katie price. It´s all gone tits up – last example excluded.

On the bad back front, I bumped into my old mate “Dozzer” the window cleaner from Sheffield yesterday who told of similar woes and said he had to see a chiropractor in Alfaz Del Pi to fix his and it cost him 600 euros. (my initial enthusiasm waned). “But is it right now though” I inquired.“It´ll never be right” he replied with a wan smile. He continued. “Mind yer, me missus got run over a few month back, and now when she sneezes she just falls in a heap”. This rather put my problem into perspective and I left it at that. I´ve since gone along the self treatment route and have been performing a series of “Cat” stretches on the rug in the front room which have definitely made a difference . - Give me another couple of week and I reckon I´ll be able to sit on the fence whilst licking me genitals.
See - www.theconcertchairman.blogspot.com

Blackpool And Its Troublesome Pensioners.

Well, it’s pissing down here in Benidorm so I’d better hurry up and finish this before my electric goes off. The weather was glorious when I left from Yeadon airport on Saturday (That’s Leeds/Bradford to you), and it’s been a little, er... changeable since I got back. Enjoyed my time in Blackpool doing knack all. I’ve got a soft spot for the old place alright and it’s nice to see that they’re spending a fair old wad in an effort to drag it up from its wellington boots in an effort to propel it kicking and screaming into the 21st Century. However I can’t really condone its zero tolerance policy towards law abiding middle aged men. I’ve been left scratching my head at instances such as my uncle Eddie (who’s 65) being refused service in “Churchills” pub for having the temerity to enjoy himself, us lot being chucked out of “Flares” for “dancing too vociferously” (try doing that to “Bucks Fizz”), and me being followed to the promenade before being ludicrously accused of stealing a “Daily Mail” from W.H. Smiths by a security man and his vacant looking sidekick the store detective. That was hilarious and worthy of a blog all of its own.

The worrying thing is that I’ve picked up this back injury, not as you might think as a result of tottering down the east coast with a rucksack the same size as myself perched at my rear, or from scurrying about on all fours in my snug sized tent (there was only one bit in the middle where I could actually sit up). Oh no, that was no trouble, even the old knees didn’t come up like Kenny Ball’s cheeks and were as good as gold. No, the back went doing, er.... precisely nothing! Can’t for the life of me remember doing anything particularly over zealous, say, lifting a particularly heavy looking pint pot, or fending off one of the Blackpool Loons on giro day, but it hurts like hell anyway. It looks like being a long wait before I can resume my evening show – I’ve got a dozen quick changes in that, - but I can’t even put me socks on at the moment! So looks like I’ve got a few more mornings of abseiling down the side of the bed on a sheet first thing in the morning and biting the pillow as I stagger to my feet like somebody who has just been shot.