More of the Same part 2

We didn't stay in Chelmsford opting to drive out of town to something cheaper which resulted in a night of rock n roll tomfoolery arriving at the low budget M25 travel shack at 2am only to gain entry an hour later. Heads were scratched and tempers freyed. We're booked in only we're locked out. The bloke on the desk is having none of it as he hand gestures to us behind a glass partition. Then Ben Knott fixes the code to the relief of all and we are home and dry. It's three to a room but decent enough with towels and soap. Next morning we're at a roadside caravan beneath a flyover enjoying fried egg bagettes and as much Typhoo as you can drink. Its a bright and chilled morning, the fur coat comes in handy as we sit on a bench listening to the planes. We arrive in Bath in plenty of time to look around and have designs on seeing the Roman Baths though in truth we only get as far as music shops and pubs. We're staying in the superb B&B luxury accommodation that is Marlborough House, a vegetarian hotel par excellence. American proprietor Laura makes us all welcome as we languish and loaf around the place admiring the smells and the feel and the all round comfort factor. Knowing we have somewhere decent to stay puts everyone in a good mood. This is the kind of B&B you need to come back to and I make a mental note to tell Chris about it, we could use a weekend away and this would be ideal. After the soundcheck we meet up for food with Laura and Charlie [Laura's wife] and talk about the war, the absurdity of US foreign policy and respective hit and miss careers in the music industry. We're in a vegetarian pub, Andy and Ben are missing meat, Mike and I meanwhile are enjoying the options, a nice turnaround. Bath Moles is a legendary venue and rightly so, the sound engineer Nigel, who I last saw when I played here in 94, is as helpful and considerate as ever. I remind him of the gig, not surprisingly it takes a while for him to recall but we eventually get there. The gig itself goes well, though we did have a few problems with my pedal set up rectified the next morning with the purchase of a BOSS pedal board so I can drag stuff on and off stage without having to reset it all up. Just before we go on my cousin Martin appears out of nowhere and it's great to see him all be it only for seconds [we repeat the hurried goodbyes after show and he's gone. The gig is packed. First on are Long Cut, a sheer anthemic youth explosion from the Bunnymen/U2 school of noise with super deluxe Rat effects pedals [we talked pre show about effects, I'm gonna get a Fuzz Face but I digress].Then we have The Fog Band who's singer I met on the stairs coutesy of his striking shoes and suarve demeanor. This guy looks like a manikin, suited and booted to the nines. He's such a clothes/look enthusiast, one can only marvel at such commitment. 'The rank outsiders shall inherit the earth' [Peculiars Bible, chapter 1, verse 1,].On stage the band look like Kraftwork and move like The Libertines, with a taught n frenzied guitar based day glo twang akin to the B52s. I loved em. Our gig flys by, some girls even dance, and then we sell a bit and meander into recess. I get to see an old friend one Mr Nigel Robinson, acclaimed fine arts tutor to approximately 50% of the audience here tonight. We talk about Liverpool and the injustice of Peels death as well as paying tribute to the legends known as Blue Poland. Then we walk back to the B&B through the town where girls smash glasses and walk over parked cars for a dare. Its always like this apparently. Breakfast next morning is a magical wholemeal pancake extravaganza to die for. We say our goodbyes to the wonderful Laura and we're on our way to Brighton, VPx