...and the band played on...
I've played in a variety of bands over the years, the most successful being a funk band with 12 members (oooh errr!) at it's peak.

It was not unheard of for us to have 25-30 gigs in a month during the summer.

One year, we took a well earned break of a fortnight during the summer. Most of us buggered off on holiday, as did our singer.

Now, he was a nice bloke, but not completely full of brains. I believe it was Greece he went to, but I could be wrong. Anyway, one morning he decides it's a lovely morning for a swim and dives, head first into the hotel swimming pool.

...the very same pool that was drained during the night.

Yep. He dived into about 3 inches of water severely damaging his back and neck. Apparently, lots of moans and groans could be heard by other patrons of the same hotel, and a few come running to his aid.

One of which was a chap named Jim Moir - know affectionately to the nation as Vic Reeves. Somehow he managed to get him out of the swimming pool and into an ambulance that he'd called. He followed the ambulance to the hospital to see if our singer was ok. It was there that they discovered that they lived not that far from each other (and indeed most of us in the band) - just shy of 5 miles apart.

The became good friends, both for the remainder of the holiday and upon their return to the UK.

Quite regularly we would see Vic (and sometimes Bob) and partners at our gigs - sometimes Vic and his misses would have a steaming row, and sometimes they would not. It was as much entertainment for us, as it was for them watching us play.

One night Vic, misses, his brother (I assume - they looked almost identical and wore the same glasses, clothes etc...) and his bother's misses came to one of our smaller gigs in a local pub. Far from me to say, but a more trained eye might summise that they were coked up to the eyeballs and well on their way to being steaming pissed as well. Not a lot wrong with that, especially at one of our gigs - it was almost expected of you.

However, Vic decides that he ought to be singing, clearly being the 'celeb' in the pub and has a word with his mate, our singer. Of course we were not about to say no, in fact, we'd quite regularly have people out of the audience come up and sing with us - it was all part of our act.

For some sad reason, he asked if we would play the old classic (read: very tired) "Mustang Sally" - well, I suppose only a deaf, one-handed mute couldn't busk that one, so we all agreed, "Mustang" it was.

Just as we start playing a friend of mine, Pippa we shall call her, for that is her name, puts a pint up on the stage just in front of me with a thumbs up. I look round, there's already two lined up on my amp...bonus, I should be set until the end of the second set.

Vic starts singing, he does quite a decent job to be fair - big powerful voice and plenty of stomping - quite a show for the 30 or so people actually watching (I did say it was one of our smaller gigs right?), until the end of the song...we're all playing an elongated 'bruuuuuuuum.....ta da!" type ending, dragging it out while Vic is dancing with the mic stand, dropping to his knees singing "mustaaaaaa-a-a-a-a-aaaaaaaaannnnnggg", when he stands back up again, and on the very last note where we are about to end with a 'tada-bang' he throws the mic stand down.

Straight.through.my.new.pint.

I looked down at my pint. Now just a soaking, beer smelling carpet covered with broken glass. I may have even shed a small tear. I look up at Vic, our eyes meet; I glance back down at the remains of my drink. I see his eyes follow mine to the mess. I look back at him as if to say, "oi, you've smashed my pint", he looks back at me, shrugs and walks off.

A few months later, we'd been booked to play at his sisters wedding. I had a t-shirt made up (which broke with band tradition as we all wore the same get-up when we gigged), on the back were the words:

"Vic Reeves owes me a pint"

Sadly, it was a wasted gesture - the band split up due to 'personal issues' (i.e. a punch up between me and the bass player over his dreadful misses/manager deliberatly changing gig venues/times to suit her and her friends rather than honouring pre-booked gigs) just a few weeks before we were due to play at Vic's sisters wedding.

I still have the t-shirt. One day I may well wait outside the BBC with it on in the hope that he sees it, remembers the incident and decide to come good on the debt.

It may sound daft, but at coming up for 4 quid a pint it may be a worthwile trip before long!
(dchurch bah, Fri 9 Oct 2009, 11:54, 4 replies)

12 member funk band?
Sounds like Papa's Magic Beard, or all funk bands on the big side?
( SteamedCleaner, Fri 9 Oct 2009, 15:38, closed)

This was
Watt The Funk. We generally had 9, but for bigger gigs we would wheel out the french horn player and dancers.
(dchurch bah, Fri 9 Oct 2009, 16:30, closed)

Four quid a pint?
Four bloody quid?

Christ, the UK's got it harsh =/
(Scritty Bakerman., Sat 10 Oct 2009, 2:01, closed)

Tell
me about it. In my local (miles from London) it's 3.50 - I imagine it's well over the 4 quid a pint mark in London now.
(dchurch bah, Mon 12 Oct 2009, 12:45, closed)