I finally wedge the fucking window shut with a bit of wood from a skip and go get some fish and chips from the Harry Higgins in the bloody dreadful Grafton Centre. I'm coming back from eating when the Rat rushes out to tell me there's a geezer from Q 103 FM wanting to interview us all right now, to go out tonight! Excellent! So we have a pint and a laugh with this guy and he tapes us swearing and being controversial and that before soundcheck.
Boomer, the support band show up and check, they're very Jesus Jones, but with Bono from U2 on vocals.

Me mates Mike and Sam show up and we're having a laugh while Boomer do their set... and I'm thinkin', "Where is Boomer's audience, have they  no mates? They are a Cambridge band, right? We've got more people in than they have..." Then someone tells me they're a London band... Bollocks! Useless bloody promoter. I'd said to him, book my mate's band The Babysitters (a bit Clash, with keyboards and that) 30 people guaranteed, but NOOOOO "I'll get a band more suited to your style of music" he said. Well bloody lovely, but no-one's coming out from London to see them play in a little cellar in Cambridge... Moron. Duh.

So we get up and play to 5 people like they're 5 thousand and it's a good gig and we're tight and there are moments (like on Saturday at the Rising Sun gig) when we take it to that other place and the music lights you up. Beautiful despite everything.

We're finished and the owner of the Cellar (another Mike) comes over and says "Christ, Fred West hd more people in the cellar than we did tonight" and the Rat sez "Yeah, but they didn't all pay #2 to get in".
We earn #7 between the four of us that night.

The Rat claims to have recruited my mates Mike and Sam to help with the  load out to the van, by offering them a smoke, thus he claims he is exempt from carrying any gear out. Arse. They'd have done it anyway! Cheeky bastard! The Rat sits and rolls a fat one while we load up.

Now I've got to find us a spot for the night. It's well past midnight now. I walk off down the Jesus Green to see if there are any gates open to drive on and park up. But I get hassle from three meathead beggars and then tread in two! cow shits avoiding them. So in the end we drive to the other side of town, to this field I know by the edge of Cambridge which is pretty much quiet and deserted. Lovely. Sorted(ish). So I brew up some tea for everyone on the little meths stove and we sit around in the van 'til about 1am just to wind down so we can kip... First night sleeping in the van, at least it's warm here...

Tour Day 9, 1/10/97 - PEOPLE 'n' PIGS

Wake up to SUNSHINE and a day off! about 10.30pm. George and Stuart's feet are sticking out of their car window - a bit too Salvador Dali for me this early in the morning. The Rat is fantastically grumpy and refuses to get up... in mitigation I've got to admit I accidentally poked his sleeping feet with the sharp end of a broken plank, which I'd just snapped for something to stop the floor melting under the stove while I brewed up.

The rest of us leave the Rat and walk bloody miles to the swimming pool to find out they've demolished it. Arse. It's been a while since I was over this end of Cambridge. So we pay #2.20 each for cloakroom only tickets at the sports centre with free shitty looks from the receptionist (ha! Cow! She thinks we're scruffy weirdos! She should be grateful the Rat didn't get out of bed! Lady, you should get out more!). At last there is... JOY! The three "S"s... SHIT, SHOWER and a SHAVE.... Mmmmmm. Now I smell good...

George stumps up for a pub meal at The Fountain (top veggy stuff if you're down that way) and then, smart like, we walk around town for five hours carrying the water bottles we filled up at the sports hall. My feet are BURNING! Narsty Blistry.
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