Without doubt the best Macc Lads tour ever was
Amir For the Beer in 1994.
The whole tour was banned, but I was paid up front.
Naturally, I have placed the Lads' share of the
proceeds in a trust fund for their old age.
'Boro Town Hall.
All me old mates from school turned up and they all said I was dead good.
And loads of birds wanted to shag me.
And we had loads of beer and afterwards there was jellies and ice cream
and it was dead good.
And the one in Liverpool where we got to dress up in nice spandex and wear make-up.
That was dead good too.
When we first started we had these teeny PAs and the sound kind of dribbled out.
But by the time this gig came around, I had 4K pointing up my arse.
Every time I kicked the bass drum, it hurt. I was yelling:
"Louder! Louder!" at Neil, "I want spinal damage!"
I was twatting fuck out of the snare, - each time I hit it, me liver burst.
Me ear drums split when I smacked the cymbals,
and when I belted the tom-toms, me ribcage exploded.
It was fucking brilliant.
Oldham Coliseum, 1994.
Sometimes every ting go right, innit? Me an' Mard have dis big scrap on
de stage, an' I kicking him dead hard in de bollocks, an' him go down. Sackaspuds. Respeck.
None of 'em. They were all crap.
We played the Princess Charlotte in Leicester a few times.
One of them was great. Good sound, great crowd, no broken strings.
Loads of gob and beer flying around, but no bogroll in the toilets, so, for once,
no fucking paper maché shite on me fretboard.
Usually I get the number of pints wrong before we go on.
I line them all up in the dressing room, and think:
"Hmm, thirteen, fourteen....that should do it..."
Then we're half way through, and I go:
"Shit! Didn't drink enough!"
This gig, I got it just right. Perfect.
Shelley's, Fenton, 1986.
"I took all my clothes off and lay on the stage
in all the wee and phlegm and wriggled around in it
whilst playing rude songs on my guitar.
All the audience kept their clothes on and watched."
Tegg's Nose, 1986.
We played off the back of a wagon in the hills at the start of the Beat the Bans tour.
We played a dozen gigs that day, in all the towns all the way to London.
We got arrested, we got escorted out of places, and we kept on playing.
But the soundcheck at dawn, in front of 500 sheep was absolutely fantastic.
It was in Leeds, or Bradford, or somewhere round there.
I was in the pit, and this bird was squashed up against the barrier, squealing like a stuck pig.
So I tried to pull her out, and she screamed:
"Gerroff yer fat bastard!" and carried on moaning...
She was getting shagged by the bloke behind her.
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