22 Pints Of Lager & Fuck The Crisps 

The Hitherto Untold Story of Auntie Pus on the Splodgenessabounds Tour - November 1980

Chapter 1 - The run-up...

Well...mid 1980 saw me out of prison and on the run, but not really running or hiding very hard, as I was gigging as much as possible and blagging as much press as possible, which usually - plus ca change, ha ha - amounted to not enough. Even The Damned were finding it hard to find a slot for my compering expertise and The Ruts, post Malcolm Owen's tragic R 'n' R demise, were mid-metamorphosis into Ruts DC which was engaging our shared manager, Andy Dayman's efforts more than I was; John Dummer had yet to step into the breach, leaving me to fend for myself. This had led to what might now be termed social networking, but was then just a bloody good night or two out on the lash in the Thomas A'Beckett in the Old Kent Road, haunt of various doubtful semi-retired boxers and their cohorts and a punk pathetique stronghold, where Splodgenessabounds often played, and where I went to hear them with Ruts Foxy & Segs et al. It didn't take much to establish that Max, Baby Greensleeves & I were singing from the same defaced, sacreligious hymn sheet and, after some high level business discussions with Splodge manager Brian Bonklonk, it was agreed that Auntie Pus, plus the rudimentary Men From Uncle, would support Splodge at their forthcoming pathetique festival at Camden's Electric Ballroom in August. 

There were about eight bands programmed and advertised, of which we weren't one! The first band on were Peter & The Test Tube Babies, who appeared to have a strong nazi following - there was lots of sieg heiling and other unfortunate behaviour down the front, and I left the safety of the dressing room, accompanied by Arthur and Esso, to meet and greet with John Peel, a long time Lurkers fan, and the only man to play Halfway To Venezuela on national radio. Before leaving the dressing room, I'd posed for one of my most R 'n R shots ever with Dick Taylor, taken by Virginia Turbot (yes that was her real name, though Max couldn't have dreamed up a better one for the hapless Sounds photographer sent on this unfortunate errand!) I had an all star band that night featuring not only ex-Lurkers for life Arthur and Esso, but three, yes three, hot hot hot lead guitar players, namely Robin Bibi, Mark Sullivan and Dick Taylor, all of whom bravely withstood the hail of abuse and missiles generated when we took the stage as special guests before Splodge, and I dragged the intro to the set opener of Riot In Cell Block No. 9 out for minutes, whilst mincing up and down the stage smoking a Senior Service a la Lee Brilleaux (least that's what I thought!), apart from dear Dick, who always ensured to have a long enough guitar lead to enable him to retreat to the wings whilst still playing when such stick ensued. I then further antagonised the skins by posing the question: "Who is this Hitler chap? I thought he was a decorator!" We survived for most of our set before Segs and Foxy ran on stage and debagged me, leading to my unceremonious removal from the stage by big, bad, unpersonable bruiser Steve English, on behalf of promoter John Curd, who reinforced my eviction saying: "You'll never work in London again," or words to that effect. (Sorry John, but you were wrong!)

God knows how, but following this unparalleled success, and after even higher level business talks with Mr Bonklonk, it was subsequently determined that we would support Splodge on their scheduled upcoming UK tour, at an agreed nightly fee of £50. Things were looking up, or that's what I thought...

Well, the first step was not so much to recruit the band, but to see who was (a) available to waltz off on tour at rather short notice, it now being November and the tour due to start any day, and (b) who was prepared to do it after the Electric Ballroom debacle. I soon narrowed it down by establishing that Arthur was the only regular Man From Uncle available, so realised that I needed to recruit a drummer, at least for the first two dates, which were on a Thursday and Friday, until Dick Taylor could herd the rest of the troops into the old faithful Jean Machine (FUs - how appropriate) van and join us. After yet more high level discussions, mainly in the Tabard pub by Turnham Green tube - but no auditions - Arthur and I selected Danny Heatley, then drumming for West Acton punk pioneers The Satellites, and soon to go on to play for, inter alia, The Exploited, Boothill Foot Tappers and Shane Macgowan & The Popes. (Well, Dan, I think we gave you a good grounding in on tour havoc.) 

There was, however, one slight snag in that Danny wasn't technically available at all, as he had a day job in the CBS record pressing plant in North Acton, a job where he did about three movements all day at a machine, and which he was only too eager to leave. However he resided at home with his mum, and she was far less eager for Dan to leave his not-so-steady job. Dan's dad is the great Spike Heatley, probably the most revered British jazz double bass player, and at that time not so long divorced from Dan's mum Viv, whose actual words when Dan proposed to leave his job and set off on tour were something like: "I've heard all this before - it was the same with your dad - he had a perfectly good, secure job in the Johnny Dankworth Orchestra, but oh no, he had to jack it in to do his own thing!" After placating Mrs Heatley by acting grown-up and responsible (yes, dear reader you may well laugh) and agreeing to pay Dan's housekeeping contribution for the length of the tour - three days as it turned out, and I probably still owe her - the triumvirate of temporary Men From Uncle was cemented.

The next step was to drum up some tour support money from somewhere, as I had no job, no money, and no record company, discounting my own one, Septic Records, of which I was and am the sole director and which, then and now had no funds whatsoever in its coffers. Then...Arthur had a brainwave - we'd go to Dai Davies and Derek Savage at Albion Records, to whom Arthur had been signed with his recently disbanded outfit Pinpoint and was about to fulfil the last couple of years of his deal by forming the gloriously named Lucky Saddles (with Dan Heatley on drums)...we'd point out that Halfway To Venezuela had recently been awarded Single Of The Week in Sounds music paper (a near, but thankfully not so narrowly avoided, minor payola scandal involving my journalist chum Mick Wall), that it was riding high in the semi-fictitious Oi Oi Charts in same rag, and that we had this not to be missed opportunity to ride high on the pathetique bandwagon. Arthur duly rang up Dai & Derek and arranged a meeting; so off we hopped the next morning, Wednesday 5th November 1980 (how appropriate, once again) up to Oxford Street on the jolly old Oxo cube for a little meeting. We went into the Albion boardroom, plotted up round the table, and put a copy of Halfway To Venezuela on it. Dai responded by picking it up and tossing it frisbee style over into the waste paper bin, then they asked us what we wanted. We both started to speak at once, then after prompting I shut up and let Arthur do most of the talking, as he had their respect, and it was through that that we stood any chance at all of leaving the premises with any ackers.

Now we really were into high level business discussions...after some twenty minutes or so they'd bargained me into selling them the publishing on the two tracks on the single for £200 advance on a rotten deal (80%/20% or thereabouts), and then haggled still further to get me to throw another two tracks in. This didn't hurt much, as it was all quite academic, manager No. 1 David Scott already being the owner of all of 'em! It appeared that it would take 24 hours to draw up the necessary paperwork, and release the cash, so it was determined that we would return the next morning to sign the deal and cop the bunce, making it a trifle tight for time, as we were due in Manchester for the opening date of the tour that evening. Arthur & I then hopped on the tube back to Turnham Green to meet with Dan and share the good news; I would say tell him to pack his kit, ha ha, except that the deal was we'd use all Splodge's gear so he didn't need to, in fact I'm not sure he even took his own sticks...still, as you'll find out if you keep reading, stick was something we were not going to find in short supply. After getting very and suitably drunk to celebrate we walked merrily home on what was a bitter early winter night.

At that time I was lodging with my friend Mick O'Dwyer and his mum locally in Bedford Park. Now, following my beloved Gibson having had its headstock split (and subsequently beautifully repaired by my dear pal Johnny Bennett over on Wimbledon Common), the advice was not to take it on the Splodge tour at any cost, so I'd asked Mick if I could borrow his. Mick wasn't really a guitarist but was the owner of a Woolworths solid guitar, remarkably similar, if not identical, to the one the Damned had bought me on tour the preceding year when the Gibson was damaged (Captain Sensible's clever way of avoiding me using any of his guitars, least of all his lovely Gibson Firebird), and christened the Puscaster. When I got in that night, and stumbled into our shared bedroom, always a perilous task as it was cluttered with discarded motorcycle parts, I found Mick's guitar on my bed, tied up with a ribbon, and with the words Puscaster Mk II emblazened in permanent marker on the headstock - Mick and our other good pal Colin Gould (both 999 crew stalwarts) had done this for me, and I was suitably touched.

The following morning the three of us set off early for our appointment at Albion. Arthur & I had appalling hangovers, it was even more bitterly cold, and we were sardined into the rush hour tube carriage...I remember Arthur wearing a very heavy tweed coat and some ridiculous, tiny wire rimmed sunglasses, the former to counteract the cold and the latter the hangover...we duly collected our £200 and passed Go - next stop Manchester!