Tuesday 30th April - Fly out

Flying out from Prestwick was achieved without any major hiccups, except certain members of the band trying to stress me out. Needing to have showers when you’re half an hour late, needing to buy Buckfast, needing to go to the toilet every fucking 10 minutes. Bombing along the M8 listening to Spear of Destiny (I like folk in my car to suffer if I have to drive) when we hear a grinding noise from the engine. Oh fuck, off goes the tape and the rest of the journey is me listening to the engine, trying to decide between good normal noises and fucked engine noises.

Naturally the rest of the band had opened their cans and were on their holidays so did not give a flying fuck unless we did not make the airport. Over the first hurdle, next are getting the tickets from Ryan Air. You never really know your band until you have to book airline tickets for them on a credit card and guess their real names. I was mighty relieved as we successfully sped to the bar in the departure lounge.

We arrived in Stansted and having been briefed by Gordy Amphetameanie, we headed to the bar to drink as much as possible in the last 30 minutes of opening. Surprisingly the airport was mobbed and everybody had already bagged any comfortable places to sleep the night. We found a corner and created Camp Grunt, out came the sleeping bags and everyone went to sleep. It was 12 'o clock in a bright loud airport, fucking no chance. Rod, who it has to be said, was dressed as the campest man in Scotland, decided to sleep in a mail trolley instead of with us. He regretted that at four in the morning when they came to collect the mail, "aye nae bother mate". Next to us was a business man with a briefcase sleeping on the concrete, you get the feeling he was pocketing the expenses for the hotel that night. There were more than 200 people sleeping rough in Stansted, which apparently is normal, but a strange sight. Next morning the second major worry was to get everyone on a plane to Germany with their passports etc. Success, now I really didn't care, I’ll have my passport on the return.

Wednesday 1st May - Lubeck (Treibsand)

At Lubeck airport our host for this adventure Marc Metzler was waiting all smiles. It took 15 minutes to get everyone into the two cars as people started wandering off for toilets, chips etc but eventually we all ended up at Marc's flat. He and Ulrike had prepared a massive German breakfast of cheeses, fruits, bread etc etc. Norri is amazed, "this bread tastes great, you don't get anything like this in Scotland, I'll need to bring some back home". I try to explain that you don't get it in Scotmid 30 feet from his door sliced and bagged but there is a shop .... Norri wanders off and I have yet again fallen into the old Sills trap of thinking he meant what he said.

Marc takes us to our accommodation, the youth hostel (I could be in trouble there) where Lynne elects to sleep in the guy’s room rather than risk the female dorms. She could well regret that later on. All the bands from the festival are staying in the same hostel, this could be very rock n' roll. As soon as Rod arrived in Germany he immediately started talking only in German (including to us) which was quite bizarre but made him a total star with the locals.

Rod and Dave go exploring and IMMEDIATELY find a sex shop (I think Rod has some kind of radar). They then come back to tell me that they got thrown out for taking photos of the wanking cabins. According to the intrepid explorers, they have booths, which have a comfy seat, a video screen and a large box of tissues. This would be brought up endlessly for the rest of the trip as we ask Germans if they use the wanking cabins at lunchtime if they have had a stressful morning in the office. Marc then took us to se the sights of Lubeck; we went up a cathedral and saw the official Mayday celebrations of marching bands etc. They really get into the worker socialism thing on the continent, riots in Berlin but a big party in Lubeck. We were then taken to the Marzipan museum (no shit) I think it was invented in Lubeck. They can keep it as most of the band discloses a hatred for the yellow stuff. Lynne buys some for her kids (must be for if they are bad).

Thursday 2nd May - Hamburg (Hafenklang)

Today was meant to be a day off but Marc had managed to get us an unpaid gig in Hamburg. There will be no money but you will get food, beer and someplace to stay next to the Reeperbahn ...fantastic that’ll do us. But first Marc does a radio show on a public access station playing punk and ska and wanted us to be part of the show. We all troop to the radio station and pick some records. All a bit nervous initially but then the carryout (four cans Holsten Pils £1) is cracked open and the shyness starts to go.

Within an hour Norri and Rod are pretty pissed and stop making sense, but are now at full speed in the talking about themselves way. I have to leave, as I am sober for later driving duties and they are really getting on my nerves. When I come back at the end they spend 10 minutes singing songs that they are making up on the spot about Berti Vogts and themselves. Two hours of great music and Scottish gibberish. Apparently we will get a tape, I can live a lifetime without hearing that, but at least the boys enjoyed themselves. Marc and I collect the minibus and all the gear and meet the Grunts steamboat express two hours later looking a lot worse to wear. Ah well afternoon drinking lads, it's a fit mans game.

It's only an hour to Hamburg and Marc asks if we want to visit St Pauli ground before we go to the venue. Yee ha, here we go. The stadium is like a blast from the past, reminiscent of old Second Division Scottish grounds. Though it does have the full caging around the pitch and lots of Skull and crossbones about the stands. The shop is like Goth paradise with everything having a skull and crossbones emblazoned on it. For quite a small shop, a third of it was taken up with Celtic merchandise including a model of Celtic Park, a bit bizarre, but c'mon the hoops. We got all the photos taken T-shirts bought etc and headed off to the venue down the Reeperbahn.

The club Hafenklang was on the docks and looked punk as fuck, tonight we were playing with two ska bands. Marc's friend Tim played in No Life Lost, a local Hamburg band and there was a Polish band Skangur. We got our free beer and free food then went on at 9.30.There were only about 30 people watching us, but today was always going to be a step-down from the festival yesterday. We gave it the maximum effort and charmed some of the audience including our new best friend Tim. The next band Skangur were just so happy and polite. They said thank you after every thing and just smiled the whole time. They would last about a week in Scotland.

Outside drinking more band beer Dave points out that the building site 10 feet away is infested by rats. Not like normal rats but big fuck off Hamburg dock rats. I see one the size of a large cat; maybe it was a cat, maybe no. Next we are sleeping in two places, Marc asks who should be should be in the two groups, Gordy always knows who likes to sleep and who wants to party". I glance at Rod, Norri, Lynne and surprisingly steamboat Ricky and decide I will join the cheech and chong contingent for a quiet night. After we watch No Life Lost, who were awesome, we go to Tim’s flat to dump our stuff.

Friday 3rd May - Hanover (Stumpf)

Hello Hangover (no I mean Hanover, that joke got tired real soon). Only a few hours down the road and Rod as usual starts cheating in the animal, vegetable, mineral game. He does it every time but it is quite entertaining so we always play it to see what shite he will come up with. Marc's girlfriend Ulrike has now joined us as it is Friday afternoon and the weekend has started. Didn't really notice in all that mayhem. It starts to rain and proceeds to piss down for the rest of the trip, being Scottish we don’t notice, aye right we moan like fuck. We arrive at the venue, which is dark and underground, very squat like. We are given two crates of beer and told to ask for more if we run out, ya beauty.

Marc our tour manager is so laid back in a "We have a bit of a problem" kind of way. He then decides the best action is for him to drive for four hours to get the spares from the garage after lots of organising. No calling Norri a prick or anything. I would have at least done that to feel better about driving all the way back to Lubeck. What a star Marc Metzler is. Norri is naturally distraught about his mistake, even worse due to not getting a row for it. I call him a prick instead to make him feel better. Marc is going to miss our gig which is a pisser but has left us in the hands of his mate Brewster (or something like that) another big friendly German who has been to UK recently.

Our soundcheck collapses due to the PA not working. The German sound guys (all young punks) sit and stare and say it was working before. It takes about an hour of wire pulling and amp swapping before we are back in business. CZD go on first and play sort of old school punk and the crowd goes wild. Rod sits at their stall and sells their stuff (t-shirts £2 each); at the end of the set Rod goes up to the singer coming off stage and gives him the money. Rod wants to get ready as he has been stuck at the stall for an hour. The singer is not pleased. Really not pleased. He comes backstage and starts lecturing Rod about interrupting him in the last song and if he was more of a MAN he would have waited. A big argument erupts then settles down with both parties calling each other cunts but smiling. If someone gives you money in Scotland ya fucking grab it. I remember a certain hunt sabs gig in Sleazys where the organiser gave us our £10 'expenses' in the middle of our set. (No doubt she then fucked off with a rucksack full of money before I could say van, diesel ...).

So despite pissing off the mouthpiece of our fellow band we went on to do our thing. The audience were all punks, which made a change from the ska fans of Hamburg and general alternative crowd from Lubeck. We gave them the punk and they fucking enjoyed it.

Someone kept bringing bottles of beer up to us on stage, putting them down and then some drunken singer immediately kicked them over. A big skinhead got on stage, picked up a large concrete brick, which was holding the drumkit down and grabbed Norri. Well cuddled really, but then he tried to put the brick down his shorts. At times like this you appreciate not being the centre of attention. Especially when I saw he had a large sheath knife on his belt. A goddamn Knife, when was the last time you saw someone at a gig with a knife on his belt? For self protection no doubt .... hmmm.

Norri managed to survive unscathed and we hammered on with the set. Rod starts going on about visiting St Pauli, "hey everybody St Pauli" sudden silence, then the crowd starts shouting, eh Rod football ken, we’re in fucking Hanover ya pillock. . In fact Rod did it the next night as well, the only time he didn’t do it was Hamburg where we could have been treated like kings for the night.

I notice that Marc and Ulrike have appeared in the audience after touring Germany a la Norri. Near the end of the set the big skinhead suddenly flies out the crowd and knocks me over my amp (very reminiscent of most gigs at the Tap). I get up and find that my lead is snapped off inside the amp, after a few tries I realise that is the end of my set. I stand about but begin to feel a bit of a spare prick and luckily decide to leave the stage before I start singing or dancing or some horrible combination of the both. I then experience the pleasure of watching the Newtown Grunts perform the last four songs without me. A member of the audience comes up to me and says, " what has happened they have suddenly become pish". I know mate, I know. Okay that didn't really happen but it should have.

I left with the smoking crew to stay in some bizarre concrete hell while the party crew stay on and dance to eighties disco for a few more hours. It was ace says Ricky, hmmm possibly, possibly not. Next day we all meet up at a pub and the Hanover crew all buy us lunch and drinks because they had money left over from previous gigs. I jest not; it was that kind of trip. Suitably stuffed and drunk we head for Duisburg.

Saturday 4th May - Duisburg (Fabrik)

Scottish Cup Final day between the Old Firm, don't forget. Marc is naturally St Pauli/Celtic and has a plan for us to see the match in some Irish bar, sweet. Unfortunately we have wasted most of the afternoon having lunch, so it's going to be tight. We bomb down the autobahn to Duisburg. Strange things start to happen to Norri, already feeling down from the yesterdays van keys disaster. He buys a large bottle of coke in a garage and manages to drop it on the way back to the van. It explodes and he loses all his coke. "Why does this always happen to me?" quite. Later Rod slams the door on his fingers, he is about ready to greet, and it’s been a long four days with no sleep. Classic line of the whole trip: "imagine I had to go back to my girlfriend and show her a hand with all my fingers missing" that would not be my main concern Norman, but a new nickname Stumpy was born.

Marc gets us to an Irish bar for the last 20 minutes in Duisburg, we come into a room with 20 people watching the match. All from the UK and all Rangers' fans, I kid you not. Mouthy Rangers fans naturally, who give us abuse as soon as we enter. Rod strikes up a conversation with one who comes from Cowdenbeath (10 miles from Glenrothes). He disappears and returns after the match with a t-shirt, CD and a nose full of charlie I watch the last 20 minutes of Celtic playing pure shite and getting beaten and I am rewarded with all the Rangers fans singing the Sash I think he had the better time.

We eventually find the well-hidden Fabrik and see a van in the car park looking a bit minky. After closer examination we decide it is Dog on a Rope's due to the fact we can see three footballs and a million elastic bands. We go inside and reacquaint ourselves with the Leeds barmy army. The elastic bands are for firing at them on stage as they play. They have goggles and glasses to protect themselves but it still stings like fuck. They are busy firing industrial elastic bands into each other’s faces at close range to reduce the boredom. This is Day Two of their tour. Can you imagine another week of having elastic bands pinged in your face constantly? Good fun watching from a distance.

We meet again CZD who are still not being very friendly to us. I hear from the grapevine that they are holding us responsible for the amp being broken last night despite them seeing the skinhead incident. They can not quite fish the end of my lead out of the connector. Their rule is "whoever is using the amp must pay for any damage", yeah and two shots don't carry? Fuck that, this is their last gig before going home, they just need some tweezers to pull it out. Dog on a Rope have their gear and we’re their best mates, sorted.

Meanwhile 'Mike the drummer's girlfriend Alice and her pal Meg have turned up at the gig. They had been in Amsterdam to escape the Beltane (a bit extreme perhaps ?) and sauntered across to Germany. Central Europe is like that, Everywhere is within four hours drive it seems. We play our final gig, which I do on autopilot as the debauchery is beginning to get to me, despite a few elastic bands off the face. Meanwhile Meg and Rob of Dog on a Rope have a dance/fight, which gets extremely violent. As we finish they are looking at each other like wounded animals, and they tried for the rest of the night to damage each other in a repressed sexuality kind of way.

Next come on CZD who say they love The Newtown Grunts and are proud to play with us. Really ? Must have really been a bit of a communication problem, so all seems ok, lots of hugs later on. Being the second time to see them the songs are really getting into my head, I end up thinking they’re great. But the night belongs to Dog on a Rope. Or at least the entertainment of firing elastic bands at moving targets on stage for an hour. German audiences seem to love live bands and want you to play all your songs for as long as possible. When Dog on a Rope finished three people got on stage and banged the drums for another hour . It was that kind of night. Meanwhile Meg and Rob are sporadically fighting. He has a black eye, two bites and she is still complaining about the initial sprained ankle she received. A few German punters are getting uneasy about the big guy/wee girl fight situation and I have to tell Meg to fucking stop being a fanny if she wants a lift to the airport. Surprisingly she does, well mostly.

I worry about getting paid because every time I ask for a band beer they make a note at the bar. I envisage them asking us for money at he end of the night for the bar tab. Of course that doesn't happen and we get the old food/beer/money magic trinity. We party until 3am when Marc tells me we should rouse the troops for the airport. Most of us are still up drinking, so that is not a problem. Dog on a Rope give us an elastic band send-off, thanks ya cunts it hurts like fuck.

Sunday 5th May - Home