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In case you think I’m being lazy, I’m still busy importing all my old blogs onto this site. There are now plenty of “recent” entries for the AC/DC Black Ice Tour – such as the one below. Scroll back through the archives for more you haven’t yet read.. (17th June ‘09:) We’re having a…
It’s the little things that make me laugh in life. Yesterday I witnessed a spherical chap order a Diet Coke with a large bag of chips. Well, it made me smile. And so did a telephone call from my pal, Eunuch. I’ll let you in to my private life – well, his – and introduce…
‘Why don’t you do one thing at a time?’ asked my dear friend, Fat Paul, recently. You know, he’s got a point. Mind perpetually whirring, juggling multiple concepts, I’ve got myself in a muddle lately. So here’s what I shall do: The blogs from last year – they need to be imported at some point…
(from May 2009) Four idle days in Munich: lovely. Well, the truck is idle, but I’ve sneaked off to Nuremberg – to meet “The Munich man-eater”. Bettina is a girl I met a couple of years ago in Canada’s remote Queen Charlotte Islands, just below the Alaskan border. She texts me before I arrive: ‘no…
‘That’s what remains of old Dresden,’ declares the croaky Namibian. He points out a grassy knoll partially obscured by one of the AC/DC tour buses, and lights his umpteenth cigarette of the morning. Spielberg, perched on an upturned beer crate, looks briefly – and quizzically – up from an intimate email to one of his…
I needn’t explain the concept of double-driving on tour, need I? All you have to know is that these beastly tour dates, coupled with absurdly complex tachograph regulations, require a second man to assist with the long drives. I suppose it could be a second woman, but it rarely is. That said, we did have…
The AC/DC tour reached Paris yesterday. After a statutory twenty-four hour break, the trucks begin rolling into the capacious Stade de France, taking care to avoid the pitch area. The ususal protective matting lines the edges of the stadium whilst the thinner Teraplast covers the grass. If we’re seen driving across the latter, punishment is…
As with any country, there is good stuff and bad stuff in Romania. On the plus side we have Dracula’s birthplace, the painted monasteries of Southern Bucovina and the beguiling bear- and lynx-infested Carpathian mountains. On the minus side we have inexplicable puncture wounds to the neck, rabies-ridden dogs…and the roads. Despite EU membership, resurfacing…
I’m a wally sometimes. Here we are at Download Festival in Donnington, UK and I’m fretting about posting this blooming footage of me playing a trombone at the Bern gig. It isn’t even a decent rendition of a catchy tune. But I’ve got a bee in my bonnet; I don’t like to cede defeat too…
You’ve noticed the mention of trucks and trombones in the tagline above, I assume. Well, there has been plenty of truck stuff…but scant evidence so far that I actually play a trombone. Or indeed even own one. In fact, for all you know, this could be dark subterfuge, a mythical gimmick in order to stand…
