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.

British Variety Tour 2009

BRITISH VARIETY TOUR 2009
On Friday we went to see the British Variety Tour at The Opera House. The line-up is made up of acts that were on our television screens back in the 70’s, and who many (not me) presumed had either retired or died.
The compere was Tom O’Connor, who I had only ever seen as hosting TV game shows back in the day – “Name That Tune” etc. It turns out he’s a wonderfully warm comic in his own right and he knitted the show together beautifully. First up was one of my heroes, the truly full on, bees in the underpants, stark staring, barking mad Norman Collier. He shambled on stage, said nothing, glared at the audience and announced “You’re probably wondering why I sent for you all this evening”. Sadly, it seems the old boy is slowing down a little these days and he struggles with the more physical stuff. “That’s half a chicken” he says whilst doing a much toned down version of a pop eyed clucking, ruffled hair, jacket off the back of the shoulders strutting hen that I remember from way back, but he still reduced me to tears (last year I was severely reprimanded by the couple sat behind me for laughing too much!), with his Al Jolson morphing into Pingu the penguin, and then into one of those nodding ornate penguin things that used to dip its beak into a bowl of water on your mantel piece or windowsill. – A living legend.
Next up was Roger De Coursey, whose sidekick “Nookie” bear was only employed for the last 5 minutes of the act. He is not the most skilled ventriloquist you’ll ever see, and maybe he should grow his tashe down to his lower lip or something I don’t know. Some of his jokes were good, but he seemed to be looking forward to the end of his spot a little bit too much for my liking - he glanced at his watch about a dozen times, - as did some of the audience. “Bucks Fizz” closed the first half, but with only one of the original members (the bloke that nobody remembers), and 3 substantially younger counterparts, he looked a bit ridiculous prancing around doing twee little dance routines in a white suit and sensible shoes. They sang well enough but the “Meatloaf” tribute was a step too far for me.
For the start of the second half enter Faith Brown and her amazing performing breasts. Faith has long been associated with not being short in the “Top Bollocks” department, and by jingo they were certainly on form this night. They were trussed up like a frozen chicken and presented in front of her face so that only her eyebrows were visible. She’s actually a top turn, great presence, singing voice, impressions, bubbly persona, it’s all there, but like the two young lads sat in front of me I found it difficult to concentrate on what she was actually saying.
I first saw “Cannon and Ball” live when they were at the peak of their powers in Great Yarmouth in the early eighties, the theatre was packed and they blew everybody away. In all those years since, I haven’t noticed a decline in their performance, not even slightly; all the drive, enthusiasm and sheer A1 star quality still shines out at you and transports you back in a thrice to great old days of comedy double acts. This is a lost art, and to watch them draw an audience into their surreal little world and then render them powerless to resist them is a joy indeed. The two young lads in front of me and a girl of about ten behind me were reduced to hysterics every time Bobby Ball so much as raised an eyebrow, - aarh! – this’ll be family entertainment then.
We left the theatre feeling considerably happier than when we went in, and that’s all you can ask really.