» Toilets

Upstairs at the Garage, London
One of the people who ran an occasional club night at which I sometimes DJed, a gorgeous woman who I thought was out of my league, took me into the gents to offer me some nasal refreshment. Deed done, she asked 'don't you realise I've been after you for ages?'. My response: 'Er, no, actually...' We met up 2 days later, and after two pints, I took her back to mine, shagged her rigid, she left her husband and moved in. We're still together now, after 9 years, live in Cornwall and have a beautiful 3 year old daughter. Bogs are great.
(Fri 2nd Sep 2005, 13:16, More)

» Toilets

Not really a toilet story, more a best poo ever story.
Picture the scene: halfway through a tour of Scandinavia, I woke up on the tour bus (rule no. 1: no shitting in the onboard khazi), with my usual morning urge to take a dump. Opened curtain to see that we were parked in a layby halfway up the side of a heartstoppingly beautiful fjord. Obviously, not a loo for miles around, so I climbed up the rocks beside the layby and found a reasonably hidden place that still gave me a wonderful view of the fjord and evacuated my bowels with a very contented sigh. Perfect shit as well: not too soft, not too firm, good length and consistency. Very satisfying! Then a quick stroll back to the bus for some excellent coffee.

Scariest dump EVER: my band was playing at a green 'festival' on the edge of a HUGE strip mine in newly post-commie Czechoslovakia with a thunderstorm going on. I stumbled through a sucking mire between flapping plastic sheeting to find the bogs, which were - get this - basically a plank with holes in, somehow suspended about 100 ft over the edge of the mine. I had NO IDEA how they were staying up, but nature was not so much calling as bellowing, so, whimpering, I gingerly lowered myself onto the wobbly plank and took what felt like the longest dump in the world, praying that something wouldn't come loose in the howling gale. After that, playing in about 3 inches of water on a wind-lashed stage with very dodgy eastern european electrics didn't seem quite so scary. Or having to witness Nazareth play 'My White Bicycle' three times, come to that.
(Fri 2nd Sep 2005, 13:39, More)

» Stupid Tourists

Not a stupid tourist (we were the tourists), just a stereotypically unworldly Sherman
On tour with my band in deepest Louisiana, we stopped at a truck stop at around 2am to take advantage of the staff being a bit jaded and sleepy by stuffing our pockets with trucker speed (proper ephedrine pills) and key rings with religious slogans.

The (rather cute) young lady on the till was a little flirtatious: 'I jest luhrve the way y'all tawk! Where're y'all frahm?'

'London, in England'

'Did y'all drive all the way heah?'

No. Not unless someone's figured out a way to make a trans-Siberian journey and helicopter airlift for a proper full-on rock-n-roll US tour bus cost less than 8 flights to JFK and bus hire, you fucking retard.

The scariest bit of the trip was either the drummer nearly being shot when he tried to open the wrong hotel door in the middle of nowhere in Montana, or the moment we realised that the huge pump-action shotgun hung over the counter at another truck stop (in New Mexico this time) was the first prize in the local beauty contest(!)

The funniest bit was chucking Graham from Blur in the hotel pool beacuse he was crying and saying he wanted his mum.
(Fri 8th Jul 2005, 14:43, More)

» Claims to Fame

Been on Top of the Pops
In 2 bands. Nothing like as glamorous as it looks. Best bit was meeting Babs Windsor in the alley round the back, while having a crafty fag, and her saying 'Alright, darling?'. Made my bloomin' day, that did.

And opening for Aerosmith at the last gig at the old Wembley Stadium. Our singer couldn't resist doing the Freddie Mercury thing, a la Live Aid. I thought 70,000 people would go 'Fuck off, you wanker!'. But 70,000 people went 'YES!!! COME ON!!!! WE'LL DO THE CALL AND RESPONSE THING!!!!!


I still thought he was a wanker.

Oh, and Joe Strummer came up to me backstage at T in the Park and, pointing to my authentic panama hat, said 'Nice weave, man.' I have to say, it is a nice hat.

Plus, me and my bandmates all managed a choreographed gob on Marilyn Manson's bass player at the one gig where our dressing room overlooked theirs on a particularly tortuous tour of Europe.

And my Granddad used to hang out with Pablo Picasso.

My dad once played an informal gig with Ginger Baker out of Cream on drums.

And my great grandma had to chuck that total pain in the arse Dylan Thomas out of her parties for being too pissed. She only stopped giving parties when the Rolling Stones started turning up...(!!!)

Oh, and I very nearly tripped Cherie Blair up as she sashayed towards the podium to give an award at a Help the Aged awards ceremony 2 years ago. Should have stuck my leg out a bit further. She was very nice about it.

And my Mum's got an MBE. Which is nice.
(Sun 27th Feb 2005, 1:18, More)

» Airport Stories

Soooooo many... NOT.
As a guitarist in two rather good rock bands, I, funnily enough, don't have many good airport stories. Which is odd, since I spent most of 12 years in the fucking places.

My favourite image, though, is of our drummer and bassist being so fucked up from the fun the night before in Tokyo that they decided that the floor of Narita airport was the ideal place to crash out. Cue Japanese men in uniforms and with machine guns waiting to escort them onto the plane... 'Not our problem now, Guv...'. They were both fine until they woke up. They then proceeded to be complete arses until we got back to Heathrow.
(Fri 10th Mar 2006, 0:54, More)