Route 66 @ thunder in the Glenns (harley davidson festival) Inverness - Scotland.

This is the last show of the summer tour and also the last show with Route 66 for many of us as in November (the next tour period) most of us have opted out for other work. Phil and myself have got the Circus Of Horrors tour (which he's got me to thank for) Laura is at Wigsteed, Phoebe has taken a teaching job, Nathan is doing essence of Ireland and Ian is on a Panto "oh no he's not!" leaving Clive, Leona, Jim and Wayne Denton being the only performers left from the tour before.

As sad as that is we do have one more show to do before it's all grinds to a halt.

The day started really early for me. I was in Kings Lynn having played a gig the night before at a random pub for average random run of the mill bastards. It was a jolly jape mainly because I was playing with Dan and Jem, two guys I'd spent over many years with in a band between 2001 and 2007.

The drive to Bristol was actually ok and not as horrible as I'd expected. I guess this was because of it being a Sunday. Well that and buzzing from the amount of red bull and black coffee I'd consumed en route! I swear I looked like a fucking owl by the time I arrived at the airport.

I parked up and proceeded to the airport where a certain Phil Walker (Texas Wanker) and Ian (tabs and cans) Kimber were waiting at the coffee shop.

Shortly after, Clive arrived as did Dan and Jarvis.

Checked in, through to departures it was high time we started the drinking frenzy. Imagine if you will, an African plain at the close of a drought just as it starts to rain... T'was quite similar I tell thee!

With us all suitably pissed up, it was time for the free for all that is getting aboard and finding a seat. Long gone are the days where they'd allocate you a seat with a nice easy, even a moron after an op could understand row and seat number. It's every man, woman and child for himself. Personally speaking even I, a renowned pasofist told various members of the general public to "GET OUTTA MY FUCKING WAY!!!" admittedly OAPs and toddlers but principally it was the same okay?!!



The plane that took us to Inverness.

Ian and I sat together and just beside us on the same row was a rather pretty girl who turns out to be getting back to Scotland. She must be the only one, all the jocks I met in abu dhabi never wanted to go back there for fuck all. Mind you, there's a difference between Inverness and Glasgow. Much along the same lines as say Bagdad and Disneyland. Except Glasgow is far worse!!! (Joke)

Chatting to her about the show and her life in Australia and various other countries made me NOT think about falling from the sky in a screaming firey ball sort of resembling and aircraft.

Boy do I watch way too much Aircrash Investigation!!!!

Once on the ground, the hole in my ass closed again and we met up with the rest of the cast who'd flown from Birmingham. As the tajectories are very similar, we could have played wacky races if the pilots weren't such sticklers for protacol. That's their trouble if you were to ask me, all hunk and no funk!

We took a bus down to Aviemore which was set deep in the highlands. The scenery was awesome. Everyone was commenting on it. Me being the disaffected welsh twat I am kept muttering to each comment made of the surroundings, "pah!" and stuff like, "that's fuck all compared to Treorci mate!"



The bus that took us to Aviemore.

At the hotel, Phil and I decided to go straight to the venue and set up.

The gear was mostly supplied, all apart from guitars. They gave me a yamaha 9000 kit which is a classic kit from the 80's. So much so it's still in production which considering the fickly world of drums, is a testament to it's sound and design.



Yamaha 9000 recording series drums. Oh, baby!!!
Pah, mine's still better!


View from the stage.





All about to soundcheck, Phil chuffed as fuck with the Fender Twin, Kit was lovely looking and sounding, Jim.... Ah, Jim, can you not just be content with anything???

Soundcheck went smoothly, Jim had his usual niggles with his monitor mix. I think if that guy had Pink Floyd's Turbosound rig to himself he'd have issues.

After soundcheck, it was time for dinner. I could have had anything, steak ala GOD made with a sauce made from batter of the pussy of Claudia Schiffer, but NOOO! Mr fucking healthy diet decides to have a plain old salad and scowl and mutter under my breath with hate at all the others not cursed with my weight fixations, eating like an Arab after the breaking of the fast during Ramadan; that is an experience in itself I can tell thee!

A three hour wait passed before showtime where I mostly hung about in the band room that was allocated. I even tried to sleep on the floor given my lack of it the previous night, but to no avail.

Then it was showtime. More on that in the next post.

Ciao

Xxx