The Alice Cooper Allegedly

Saturday 23rd November, Birmingham NEC.

It's Saturday so this must be Birmingham, home of the yeti's foot naan .........your education continues you lucky bleeders.

Oh and I am required by the Lemsip people who are considering sponsoring Sickbus2 to give you a daily medical report. Mr O has fluid issues.

The gig, which is what I am told is the name for concerts in young person's parlance today, was to take place in one of many enormous sheds out at the NEC. A leather clad overabundance of motorcycle freaks and freakesses had arrived too in their thousands for a Moto Guzzi and Castrol GTX Fest so parking was at a premium. It was time to blag a tadge, each florescent yellow parking dude didn't seem to be able to see past the fact that we sported Monsters of Rock Access passes and so slowly we oozed through the maze of parking fortuitously ending up on the service road at the back of the Arena. Tony managed to hide us behind an enormous Black Lorry Jobby so that we were parked up just a spit from the Cooper Camp.

Tony also managed to secure us a landline so it is just possible that we may owe Alive Enterprises a couple of quid for electricity. I'm sure that should you choose to remit an invoice Mr Nelson we will be able to forward a Postal Order by return. Can we also apologise to all the NEC Thunder fans for the slight dip in the light show during their set that night but apparently they had problems when there was an almighty surge on the power line when a microwave, three hairdryers, one set of curling tongs, two sets of hair straighteners, a sandwich toaster and a strange depilatory device all kicked in simultaneously on a run down double decker pink tour bus that had mysteriously appeared out back. "Stone me" a particularly erudite Road Rat was heard to proclaim "I could have sworn Starline had scrapped that shed years ago".

Those that queue queued as Mother Nature saw fit to provide a barrage, bombardment, broadside and cannonade of hailstones and ice, a salvo of pelting rain, coupled with showers of sleet, all mixed together in an enormous volley that I would defy any airheaded Weather Reader to have kept up with on their chart..A passing Security operative took pity and returned with a number of strange looking plastic bags to offer some protection. It appears that there was a feminine hygiene display there earlier in the week sponsored by Femidom (but I digress).

Several motorcycle dudes and dudettes and a local paparazzi who had planted himself in a bushy bush near to the Pink One bore witness to two strange characters exuding almost unnoticed from the bus. One who wore an Alice Cooper Beanie and dark shades was whispered to be new rock sensation Alice G and the other apparently was his personal physician a certain Doctor O.Vine. Rumours that they were responsible for the Brutal Planet Remix and had been in secret negotiations with the Cooper Camp concerning a total remix of Brutal Planet tentatively entitled Phat Planet have yet to be confirmed or denied. Mr G and Dr Vine did seem to garner enormous respect from the NEC security as they were able to waft in and out of restricted areas willy nilly. They were, I am happy to report, brought down to earth when Mr C Wright totally blanked them as they were both severely lacking in the pulchritude department..

There was a right old rigmarole getting in to the front pen as we had our tickets checked at least eight times on the way in. QQ was not best pleased on arrival on the barrier to see that Mr Leighton Rees was already front and centre. Jammy git. We were quickly placated however when he produced an infeasibly large bag of Jelly Jellies that proceeded to feed the first few rows several times, parable like.

The lovely Mr Cooper had not taken my fisherman's friends advice because we was just a tad croaky once again and despite our miserable pleadings we were once again denied access to the stage to sing I Never Cry.. The Shock Rock Supremo did once again manage to have a one on one chat with BS Des from the stage during the band intros. He was also seen dispatching back, whence it came, a furry type head skull facsimile type thingy that Mr Nicebutdim had winged his way. The creature escaped with minor bruises and abrasions unlike a certain ovine of my ken. I'm welling up ....

Parked as we were backstage we did have a bit of a do apres show. We were joined by lovely Chocolate cake toting Sam, Mr Trustram P, Dean of Men as well as Mr Wicked Youngman and Fellow Walian Brett. Much cud was chewed and we managed to shift half a gross of out of date dry roasted that we had found down the back of one of the carpet covered banquettes. So that was a bonus.

Can you guess where BS Des was mostly tonight ?

We were only an hour and a smidge from our next destination, Cardiff in lovely lovely Wales and a day off too. I could sense that two things were racing round my colleagues heads as we bore down the M50, what delights would the services, citizens and environment of Europe's youngest Capital have in store for them and what were the chances of using jollyjon's bath. Yep just the two things.

jollyjon's bonce, however, was awash with even more detritus than normal as this ™"Virtual Bonce Scan" shows...

• He could hear his comfy bed calling.
• He could hear his comfy wife calling.
• He was hoping that Renfield would leave backstage passes for the kids as he had promised by email.
• He had no idea where to park the Pink One for two days with or without a land line.
• His heart sunk when Tony told him there was no coach park in his beloved hometown.
• He sighed.
• He was hoping that the local sex shop had had another delivery of inflatible sheep as demand on the bus was high.
• He was wondering how to get all 13 buskateers in his bath.
• He was 70 / 30 against going on to Sheffield at this moment in time.
• He was yet to book a restaurant for tonight's bean feast.
• He was with military cunning planning an audacious pubcrawl of Cardiff's finest hostelries.
• He had foolishly forgotten it was Sunday in Cardiff (see above)
• He could hear his bed calling again...
• He was wondering what were the chances of mrs jollyjon coming to pick him up from the Cardiff Services now as it was only 4 am
• He prayed that the recent outbreak of flatulence amongst waitresses had subsided.
• He was pretty confident that the Phantom Shower Rose Pilferer would have been caught by now.
• He was in torment too, how was he going to tell the kids that Uncle Alice had slain Dolly ?
• and wasn't that my bed I heard calling again ?
• at least he knew that his lovely Sickthing friends were guaranteed an unforgettable show in Cardiff in front of a great welcoming crowd with security second to none.. yeah at least he could rely on that.

[you've gone all third person again][sorry ethyl it was for effect]

Dydd Sul y 24ain o Dachwedd, Caerdydd (Dydd bant).
Sunday 24th November, Cardiff (Day Off).

"We'll keep a welcome in the hillsides" so the tune goes but not in the Cardiff services it seems. It was nearly noon and I had rung mrs jj, who was on her way to pick me up, I had sloped off the bus to avoid the increasing torrent of tales that were coming back to the bus from colleagues about roseless showers and farting waitresses. Seems it was still going on. I was sat hunched up against the cold when I noticed a work colleague wandering in my direction. "Hello Mr Jones" I coughed and for the second time in as many days I was blanked. I tried again and he spun round to confront the dishevelled tramp who was after his small change."Its me Jon" I smirked. He took a lot of convincing that this tramp in a blood stained sheep shirt, shorts and walking boots was a work colleague who normally was so well... normal.

Back in my lovely bath I relaxed safe in the knowledge that the Pink One would now be parked and landlined up by the National Sports Centre. No such luck. Seemed there was no room at the inn and so I drove, with numbers 1,2 & 3 in tow to meet them. Sigh, entrances were blocked, police were unhelpful and tachograph time was ebbing away. Parked up on double yellows with the jenny belching fumes we went our separate ways promising to rendezvous at the Goat Major (Really) Public House and from there onward for top fare at a mystery restaurant. A mystery because I hadn't booked it yet. Si, Krishna and Des came back to jollyjon towers to avail themselves. A hour or so later we were primped and preened and pink ready for a riot of a pubcrawl.

Sunday is not the best time to pub crawl in Cardiff or Wales.. we'll leave it there. That tidbit is presented here for your education make a note of it so that if you are ever ....

The Goat Major was warm and welcoming with wood panelled walls festooned with paintings and photos of goats. A haven for lovers of all things caprine. We imbibed and spirits rose. What did the rest of the gang get up to (?). As a pointer of things to come that night we were approached by staff who enquired "Are you with Alice Cooper ?", "Yes" I had no problem in replying in the affirmative. Everyone seemed delighted with this news and photos were taken to commemorate our visit. Relatively well oiled we all adjourned for some fine tucker in the Nobel House.

We had a great time at this Chinese Emporium who provided us with some excellent nosh and kept the old fermented arriving at a steady pace. It became apparent once again that we had been "recognised". I am not ashamed to say that I assumed the mantle of Tour Manager and Toastmaster, roaring out increasingly stentorian toasts as the evening progressed, sometimes even twice for the cameras.

On one of many return trips from the lavatories two gentlemen (who on the strength of our visit went to the Cooper show next day) begged me to see if a photo could be had with him. I was polite but firm and explained that we were out relaxing but I would see what I could do. The him of course was Mr Crowe, they must have thought that he was, well you can guess. I never said he was and I never said he wasn't. Like any self respecting Tour Manager / Personal Assistant I waited for Mr Crowe to finish his Octopus Delight and then ushered him over to meet his two lovely new fans for photos and handshakes. It made their night and Mr Crowe seemed well chuffed. ( Mr Crowe had previously given me an undertaking not to speak to them and spoil the illusion :)

Now I ask you had we done anything wrong ? I think not. Other buskateers were slightly more uncomfortable with our pretence.

The floodgates did kind of open however as several other guests plucked up the courage to come find out who were. Even cleaver wielding staff came out to take a squint at the Alice Cooper Party who had visited with them that night.

Replete to the gills we left and made our own ways back to the Pink One. One of our number was very obviously missing from the Bus that night as he had forsaken the delights of sleeping in a damp coffin for the hospitality that a night at home could offer. [Lightweight].

END OF PART THREE

Ovination by killer_sheep on Saturday, November 23, 2002 on Saturday, November 23, 2002 | Permalink