I can't stop myself now, my hand is pumping furiously on my firm, shiny, proud, hard tool before, with a mighty surge, the fruits of my hours of labour spew forth into the world, a mixture of pleasure and pain, coupled with an intense passion as I realize I have just started a new tour log. I was of course referring in the last sentence to my typing to my brand new DELL laptop Inspiron 2500GTI. Which is still crap. On t'bus, bound for the city of sprouts (Brussels) in Belgium, where we are tonight performing a repetoire consisting of bloody hard graft. Great set, also long set, really hard work, still, can't complain.
France. Now, mes petites enfants (shut it, you pseudo tosser), we are in the land of the pond hopper (frog), as the Roast Beef make a short incursion into French held territory for 2 "concerts". That's French for concerts by the way, you ignoramuses... Did you know, the other name the French have for the Brits is les fuckoffs. Makes you feel kind of proud to be a Brit, don't it? Not... We flew to Strasbourg to play in Colmar, about 1 hours' drive away.
One thing I will say about France is that Air France is indeed crap, and loses yer luggage on a regular basis, it was Ricks' this time.
We played at an agricultural fair, part of the town festival, on a beautiful evening, in a semi enclosed auditorium, hence great sound, 7500 billy. I just love France. It really is les bollocks du chien. (chien is French for dog by the way) Colmar is called Little Venice by the locals, and is a class place to stroll around, stuff your guts and be Rhino the wino. We were actually a little nervous as to how many people would come, as they didn't sell tickets in advance, and we hadn't played that area for a long while, but we needn't have worried. We also gained revenge for the French beating us at Wembley by running up a 5-0 scoreline (Letley2, Hirsh2, Parfitt) and trundled off to the next show, at Lourdes.
A bizarre choice of town for a venue you might think. You'd be right. It's like Blackpool with religion, the hats don't say kiss me quick, they say cure me quick. It is a very very very strange place to me. People being wheeled through the streets on beds, with nurses, I haven't ever seen so many sick people that weren't in hospital. Very sad, but as long as it helps them, then why not. You'd think the last thing they needed or wanted was a rock and roll show in the middle of town. Again, you'd be right.
The day of the show was beautiful. Then the cloud found us. And boy, did it. It pissed down and down, and down. The electricity went off, a massive thunderstorm, which finished about 2 hours before the show, but we did the gig anyway. More than a little quiet (and a bit thin it must be said) the punter was, but that's because most of them hadn't had enough divine intervention (alcohol). I will definitely NOT be making an offer for the beer franchise in Lourdes. Great to see some of our Spanish fans there though, they were fabola.
Me and Paul are going to buy a chateau when we win the Lottery, and retire to a strict regime of no exercise, tons of foie gras, and extra large vats of wine. Still, at least they're shit at cricket. Uh-oh. So are we...
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To Rhino's Tourlog Index
All Photography by Barry Colquhoun.
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