The Gig
Part three
As I was saying Super-Ted despite appearances was actually a formidable guitarist, his style of playing could stretch from George Benson to Steve Vai if the need arose. So when Depeche Mode and in particular that floppy haired parrot faced wazock one starts barracking we played our party-piece which was at that point Killer Joe. This to be honest was a bit of a pointless exercise because it went completely over their heads, however we invited them to step up and show us how it’s done. I think they actually ran away. They had the last laugh though, I mean being that their stage performances consisted of merely walking on stage and pressing a few buttons and walking off stage whilst earning enough money to not only occupy the bridle suit in the hotel, but to get the Full Monty treatment from the girls at the bar…gits!
Anyway after a few days when the dust settles the practicalities of life start to hit home, even in a five star hotel. The Teds were becoming increasingly concerned about the van. Apparently, an assortment of Danish mechanics had inspected the van and was unable to find the problem. Of course the Teds were blissfully unaware that they had put the wrong fuel in. This was to be the start of a series of biblical financial disasters for the Teds…Eventually they discovered what the problem was but the van alone ended up costing them two weeks wages for one Ted.
In an attempt to drown their sorrows, on our night off, the Teds decide to hit the town. I stayed at home to wallow in misery, well not just that, I was the only Ted burdened with financial obligations in that I had a mortgage to pay on my house in Devon…Anyway, I spent most of the evening in my room pacing up and down, I was actually looking forward to their return, I knew something would happen that would cause me to cheer up a bit so I went down to the reception area to wait for them. On the way down I shared a lift with Sinead O’Connor, I thought shall I say something, what should I say that she would remember? The only thing I could think of was; my God you’re small! Which ironically is what they’ll probably say when I’m discovered. In the event I said nothing, pathetic.
Anyway, eventually some glum faces appeared at the doors, it was the Teds. I said "what’s up" they could hardly bring themselves to speak, but eventually the truth came out. Apparently they were having a top time in this supposed English restaurant and were making merry with a rather nice bottle of red (Baron Von Rothschild) as it happens. On devouring said bottle of red, Super-Ted calls the waiter and casually orders another to be sent to the table immediately, with all speed!!! The waiter approached with raised eyebrows and a look of surprise/consternation as it were, he announced to a hushed crowd of pissed Teds that there was only one bottle in the entire establishment and the one they had consumed, was it. Super-Ted gazes down at the menu, stares at it for several minutes in disbelief when he has to break the terrible news. What they thought was 200 Krona was in fact 2000 Krona.. I must admit on hearing this tale of woe I very nearly soiled my pants, I can’t ever remember laughing so much…. They were very upset though, but my problem was the more I thought about it the funnier it got. Super-Ted became Baron Von Super-Ted (BVST ) and so on, almost infinitesimal amounts of fun could be had at their expense hahahahaaa. To be fair the trouble is when you venture out into foreign parts it’s easy to get confused about currency. I mean does 10 Krona buy a bag of chips or a car? Unfortunately, in the case of the Teds it was just one sip of wine to which one tearful Ted remarked "if we’d known it was that expensive we would have enjoyed it more"…I don’t think so Ted..
It came to pass that the Teds became virtual vagrants in a five star hotel. They were drinking themselves to death (costing yet more money) in order to forget their problems, which was money! One Ted devoured the entire mini-bar in his room forgetting that this was THE most expensive way of amusing yourself, especially in this particular hotel. Such was the level of poverty, one evening Super-Ted casually announced that not only did he not wear any underpants but he was wearing the same pair of trousers he had on back in Cornwall. Can you imagine? Not even in my wildest imagination could I imagine what lurked in the Baron’s nether-regions, and he was the one with the girl friend!! Can you imagine? No….don’t go there!
Moving on, one of the Teds decided to invite a mate over from England to stay and enjoy a binge weekend at the Teds expense! This was yet another stupid idea that was bound to end in tears. After we played our set on the Friday evening Ted and his mancunian ‘mad for it’ mate went night-clubbing in down-town Copers. In the morning I awoke to banging on the door, I opened the door and standing there was a Ted flanked by two police officers. Ted had been arrested and was asking me to bail him out to the tune of 2000 Krona. He had to ask me, I was the only one with any money. I had no choice. I of course inquired as to the reason for his arrest and apparently they emerged from a well-known club in the early hours and decided to go shopping (with no money). Ted in his infinite wisdom, having allegedly previously succeeded in steeling a pair of leather gloves, in what I can only presume to be a state of drunken desperation decided to try and steel another pair, but this time they were tagged and he was duly arrested outside the shop. Needles to say I owned his jailbird ass after this. Not a happy position. It is however with considerable regret that I cannot take the moral high-ground here because on leaving the hotel I stole one of the hotels piano stools because someone said Paul McCartney had sat on it and that it would bring me luck, did it? Did it f***. I think I got away with it?..…I still have it….
I remember towards the end of our stay in Denmark on another ‘night off’ we were all invited to dinner by what appeared to be a very respectable Danish lady. When we arrived at this woman’s house we were greeted by an assortment of friends and family, at least that’s who we thought they were…The evening seemed to go quite well, that was until one of the guests started removing items of clothing – Super-Teds reaction was quite dramatic, the abject fear that he would somehow be forced to reveal what lurked beneath the Super-Ted trousers, the unwashed Cornish Super-Nudger would have to make an unscheduled appearance. It seems we had unwittingly happened upon a group of ‘swingers’. Of course jailbird Ted was in his element, he invites himself to this womans bedroom, strips off and just lay there with an expectant look on his face. At this point, I must admit even I was becoming nervous and decided to pitch-in with Super-Ted and Girl-Ted and scarper (embark upon an extrusion) as they say..
After all this I must admit the thought of the trip home was starting to look a bit bleak what with all the financial losses being ratcheted-up and the Teds lurching from one disaster to another. For my part it was with a sense of considerable foreboding that I would have to go along with the next Ted adventure. The problem was that our agent was seriously ill and was therefore unable to help us get any more gigs in Denmark, so we were facing having to go back to England. Super-Ted, who was the band spokesman in this regard, simply because he was the one who originally organised the hotel gig through this agent, was frantically phoning around trying to get gigs anywhere he could. Unfortunately, there was a recession on and money was tight all round.
Eventually, Super-Teds plan was for us all to travel down to Spain and live as wild woodland creatures sleeping out in the open-air on lashed together lengths of 4×2 fixed to the back of his van. I’m not making this up, that was his plan! We’d gone from luxury to vagrancy in just five weeks. The Higg does not do sleeping rough; needles to say we went back to England, the journey back home actually went without a hitch, but we made it….
Can you imagine?
I hope you enjoyed the Gig
Higgs Boson
PS. If there are any film makers out there who want to turn this story into a film and require a script – I’m your man….
