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OUCH!!!!
Crazy it is. You spend 90 minutes a night twisting, jumping, hopping, and generally contorting your body for upwards of 16 years, with only a couple of embarrassing tumbles to speak of. You walk up your garden path (which I was) and go over on your ankle... so up the hospital you hop, they tell you it's ligaments, and the only cure is rest. Hmmm, slight problem, 19 shows.. So as I digitise, my ankle is caning, another physio before tonight's show, all say aah for poor old Rhino. Which brings me neatly to Eastbourne (no it doesn't). I hated it, and to be honest, I thought we were, albeit by our own standards, crap, an opinion shared by the right rocking reverend Letley. My evening wasn't helped by my ankle, but also, so endearingly by a woman at the front, who every time I went near her, turned around, and made out like I'd farted. Wish I had... Dark Phader is dead meat by the way, even if he does somehow worm his way back on to this page. I shall sit on his stupid black cowl and give him a Rhino Haymaker, as payment for the lies he told about me at Harrogate. Phader, you're a marksed man... Back to the woman, every time the Gomorr went near her she tried to grab his balls, think she preferred him. 
On to Basingstoke, what a blinding show, really hot and sweaty, even saw a R****'* R****** t-shirt on one of the backstage crew, a man of taste obviously... One and all loved it. For me, my favourite kind of show, as everyone has a choice of sitting (at the back and sides) or standing on floor level. I'd left my ankle support at home so Lyanne bandaged it just before we went on. After one song I thought my foot was going to fall off for lack of blood supply, at the end of 4 songs, as Dave Salt took off the bandages, I fully expected to see advanced gangrene. Mrs. Worsfold said to me afterwards, "never let a Chinese woman bind your feet.!!" Great evening... Quick joke: A bloke is having a go at another: "Why are you so fat?" "because every time I shag your wife she gives me a biscuit" 
Next day, on the train, 50 minutes, to Croydon. Francis, Matt and me are based at home
for a few days, took the Gomorr at least 8 minutes to get there. It's the best of both worlds, and makes a change. Living out of a suitcase is fine if you like that kind of thing, but so is being at home, getting confused here, so change tack. The front row in the middle. Nice Pringle sweaters, you know, the ones with all the diamonds, sports casual slacks, nicely set off by a pair of beige deck shoes. I thought, how are these people at the front? Nothing personal, but not quite the usual type of billy we have, maybe the tickets go on sale in a funny order, still, by the end they were twisting and frugging, albeit in a highly unusual manner, having a good time (it says 'ere). The effects of the embalming fluid must have worn off..Nice to see our friends from Norway, Denmark, Germany and Spain (hola!), who've come over to catch a few gigs, which brings me neatly to my next bit (it does). 
One more thing which makes our fans amongst, if not THE best. I know I can sound sycophantic, but so what? The thing is, you're so loyal, you know what you like, which means you're not affected by the fact we're not trendy (who said that? You did Rhino), and even when we put out a below par (was going to say crap but decided against it) album, you give us the benefit of the doubt. Which is why, when we do a poor show (like Eastbourne), it's a real drag. You part with your dosh, you deserve 100 per cent from us, and as the John Lewis of rock, we try every time. However Croydon was a bit nothing really, still, done now, "must try harder" on end of term report.
Have you seen what a slim young thing Rick is, by the way? Come on all you Rick chicks, show him your lurve. Breast exposure, rude gestures of a suggestive nature, sensual gyrations etc. Just make sure I'm looking when you do them, huh? Byeee!!  The old git who's not as old as some of the others.
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