Rock and Roll Stories #22 - The most bonkers rock and roll weekend ever!

 Cast your mind back to 1985, specifically Saturday November 23rd 1985? What were you doing? A few memory joggers. Feargal Sharkey was number one in the charts with A Good Heart. The TV shows of the day were Terry & June, Noel Edmonds Late Late Breakfast show and Bobs full house. Ring any bells? Well it wouldn't have with me, because I was in Belgium doing a gig with The False Dots, supporting our mates band Soldier Bike at the Tiki Club. I have no idea where this actually was. All I know is that it was the most bonkers weekend of my life. 

At the time my day job was working for a software company called System Designers who had an office on the Buckingham Palace Road. Due to my poor health earlier in the year and a complete rebuild of the band, we'd only done one gig that year, which was performed as duo, with myself and Allen Ashley. We'd recently recruited Graham Ramsey on drums. Various attempts to recruit a bass player had failed,  our regular bassist Paul Hircombe was abroad and so we asked the Dots old keyboard player, Chris Potts to stand in. I also roped in another mate,  mad Captain Ubungus on lead guitar. We had a gig at the Cricklewood Hotel and a gig at the Bull Arts centre pencilled in for late November/early December, but it had been a quiet year. During 1983/4 the band had been on a high, with Venessa Sagoe on vocals. We'd done some amazing gigs and great recordings, but the whole thing imploded in September 1984. By December 1984, I was seriously unwell. I had six months off drink and worked very hard to learn to play guitar properly and even did a songwriting course, as well as getting stuck into my day job. I'd had the job since October 1983, but I realised if I wanted to do anything in music, the clock was ticking and I needed to do things a bit differently.

I got together with Allen, who was a bit older than me and not from the usual Falsedots mold. At the time he was working under the name Allen Lucas. He wasn't a party animal, he was very serious poet and was most businesslike around the band. Whereas Venessa could sing anything and be amazing, Allen had a very indie, Smiths style of singing. It was a complete change of direction, but I was seriously excited as we put together some excellent songs, which I believe stand the test of time, and it seemed right for the time. In the second week of November, Graham asked us if we'd like to do a gig in Belgium with his mates in a band called Soldier Bike. I immediately said yes. A period of frantic rehearsal started. We recruited my great mate, Ernie Ferebee to handle the transport logistics. Ernie was always happy to drop everything for some fun.

I thought it would be a good test for the band and a great crack to do a gig in Belgium. We weren't really ready for such a gig, but The False Dots never duck a challenge. The plan was simple. We'd meet up on Friday 22nd November at The Three Hammers pub in Mill Hill, then drive in convoy to Dover, take the ferry to Zebrugge, and drive to the Tiki club, do the gig on Saturday night, have a beer and come home. The club said they were happy for us to bring sleeping bags and crash at the venue.

The idea was to meet at 7.30pm and drive down when everyone arrived. I was working, so I went back to my flat, got changed, got my guitar and gig bag and got the 240 bus up to the Hammers. By 8pm, the False Dots were all there and having a beer. No sign of Soldier Bike. By 9.30pm, we were getting worried, but also having a pleasant chat. At 10pm, Rick Collins, Soldier Bike's bassplayer arrived. He explained "They were running late", this set the pattern for the weekend. By 11pm, they arrived and we set off. We'd missed the Ferry we wanted, but no problem, we had loads of time. 

We got down to Dover in a couple of hours and by about 2.30am were on the ferry. A bar was open so we had a quick drink. Then the captain announced that due to an incident at Zebrugge Harbour, we were diverting to Dunkirk. This was a problem for Soldier Bike. Their tour manager, a chap called Amon (not his real name), was a deserter from the French Foreign legion. The French immigration officials would be on the lookout. He was facing a ten year prison stretch if caught.

Frolicks on the way to the gig on the Belgium Autobahn

A plan was devised to hide him in the van. We arrived in France and to our amazement, they didn't search the van. We were through and now we simply had to find an unmanned border crossing (the was pre Shengen). Happily there were plenty, and the drive passed without too many incident, but a few roadside shenanigans. We got to the Tiki club in good time. Both bands did a soundcheck, which went well. We'd hired a Simmonds Electronic kit for the gig, that both bands shared. It sounded great. 

The club was really nice. A proper backstage area with free food and drink and even an in house hairdresser. They believed in looking after bands. We had our hair crimped for a laugh and even got Ernie, who was ten years older than us and former Rocker to do the same. Waiting around for gigs to start is always the worst bit of touring (that and sleeping).  

Rog, Graham & Ubungus at the Tiki Club

Amon was in charge of the 'medical supplies' to keep Soldier Bike on the road. He had a huge lump of the finest hashish resin that was liberally to be distributed. Unfortunately, before he had a chance to distribute said items, the clubs guard dog, a huge, fierce mastiff, with cropped ears, ate it. Amon, was really upset and worried about the effects of the dope on the dog, however, the club owner dismissed it saying "bastard dog is always doing that, cannabis is not poisonous but keep out of his way". Ernie was a rather good player of the Jaws harp and as each new calamity happend, he'd play the theme tune of Laurel and Hardy to us and we'd burst out laughing. He played the tune rather too many times

As we'd had nearly no sleep and a fair amount of alcohol, we all slumped into the armchairs and the sofas provided and had a doze. The dog was clearly getting rather stoned and curled up on the floor next to Captain Ubungus, who was lying on a sofa. Ubungus started stroking the dog with his bare foot, to sooth it. I was quietly chatting to Ernie, as we watched, the dog rolled over and Ubungus's foot was now rubbing it's privates, without him realising. We started to chuckle as the dog started to get excited. Ubungus then rolled over onto his front and so his foot was not on the dog anymore. The dog was not happy that his new found friend was no longer exciting him and jumped off the floor, onto his back, paws around his neck and started violently humping him. It was a hilarious scene. Ubungus went to struggle, but the enormous dog growled aggressively and carried on, Ubungus had no choice but to lie there and think of England. At this Ernie pulled out his Jaws harp and went to play the Laurel and Hardy theme tune. The dog, which was very stoned, heard this strange noise and leaped off Ubungus and straight at Ernie. Now Ernie was 6'7 and 24 stones. He'd worked as Johnny Cash's personal security on his UK tour and was knew how to defend himself (thank God). He managed to grab the flying hound mid air and just stop it before it ripped his head off. Ernie grabbed the dog and said "Go and sit in the corner, be a good boy". The dog meekly obeyed, realising it was dealing with an even more dangerous beast. There was a small nick on the end of Ernies nose, where the teeth had come down. He washed it with vodka to avoid Sepsis. We all kept very clear of the dog after that.

Onstage at The Tiki

At around 8pm, the False Dots took to the stage. The audience was a mixed bag of punks, skinheads and bikers, liberally mixed with some extremely pretty young ladies. A few of our songs were fairly up beat punky ditties which they rather enjoyed, but they reacted rather less well to the more romantic ballads that Allen had introduced. One of the songs was a punky diatribe about fascists that I'd written called Nazi Boys. Allen was quite perturbed when he realised that some of more skinhead members of the crowd seemed to think it was not a song that was critical of such things. They were dancing along and making rather uncool salutes, but seemed to be enjoying themselves.  I could see it was upsetting Allen, so I said "It's five people mate, look the rest think they are idiots". It was a bit of baptism of fire for Allen. Graham and I hod done a fair few boystrous gigs and were just soaked it up. Allen had less experience of such places and for a first full band gig, it was pretty daunting but he did OK. Ubungus just sailed through life and enjoyed the moment. We finished our set and then enjoyed the rest of the evening. Soldier Bike were amazing. After they finished, there was a new wave disco, which I thoroughly enjoyed, until 5am. I didn't get any sleep, we were clowning about, chatting to the local girls, as best we could and generally soaking up the atmosphere. There was a rather amusing moment, when one of the girls asked if I was the guitarist of The False Dots brother. She said "You look a lot like him, but he's much better looking". I'd changed out of my stage wear, and she hadn't realised.

At around 9am on Sunday morning, we rounded up our gear, loaded the van and set off. We stopped at a service station for Brunch, got the ferry and were back at the Three Hammers for the drop off for 7.30pm. Myself, Ernie, Graham and Ubungus stayed until closing time. We were going to leave earlier, but when I was down to my last 20p, I put it in the one armed bandit and won a tenner, so we carried on drinking. At around 9,45pm, the surreal nature of what had happend in the last 48 hours hit me. I turned to Graham and said "Did all of that really happen, or did I just imagine it?". Graham replied "You couldn't make up when the dog humped Pete". It was a great experience and I realised what we had to do to make the band work for such gigs. My advice to all bands is to grab such opportunities with both hands. If nothing else, 40 years later, you'll have some great stories!

At 9.30am on Monday morning, I wandered into the System Designers office, clutching a much needed bacon roll and a cup of tea and within ten minutes, it was as if none of it had happened.

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The False Dots are still going. Please come along to our 46th Birthday party at the Dublin Castle, in Camden in Sunday 16th February CLICK HERE FOR MORE DETAILS

 

Guest Blog - Now A Sports Bar – The Torrington, Finchley by Allen Ashley

By Allen Ashley






Now A Sports Bar
But back in the day the Torrington – or “Torrington House” as it lately styles itself – tucked like an afterthought onto the side of Lipton’s supermarket in North Finchley High Road, was the musical oasis that glittered, sweated and heaved every Sunday evening.  Sundays in the 70s were exactly like they’re always made out to be: grey; rain-soaked; “Horizon” or “The Onedin Line” on telly; most shops not allowed to open; tubes and buses on an infrequent, if they can be bothered timetable.  Sunday roast was the fulcrum of the weekend.  I might have played football up the park with my mates in the morning then stuffed myself with potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and Paxo; but by 7 o’clock that evening I was ready to meet up with my mates John and Ade and check out who was on at the Torrington that night. 

Food Orders Taken
We had our own band, of course – me on 12 string acoustic guitar, Adrian on bass and John on biscuit tin percussion.  We never progressed any further than playing very loudly in my grandmother’s living room.  The bands that graced the Torrington, however, were often on their way to somewhere, be that brief fame or oblivion.  We’d read about them in the “New Musical Express” and now they’d rolled into Finchley.  The bigger names of the day, the people whose albums we saved up for and cherished – Hawkwind, Al Stewart, Gentle Giant – would do annual tours that climaxed at Hammersmith Odeon.  The Torrington was in the league below, along with its sort of sister venue, The Hope and Anchor in Islington.  Up and coming rock stars; rhythm and blues singers; bands incorporating elements of Stevie Wonder / Bobby Womack style funk; rock ‘n’ roll revivalists…
By day and on all other evenings, the Torrington’s extra bar was a restaurant serving the Berni Inn style good quality British cuisine that would have delighted Regan and Carter from “The Sweeney”.  On the Sabbath, though, they shifted the tables out and handed over control to George: an imposing, no-nonsense Scotsman who handled all the bookings.  It was standing room only.  Walk-ups most nights but pay in advance at Christmas.  Foolishly, I once risked George’s wrath by scribbling an addition to his “Forthcoming Attractions” list.  It read something like: “20 December – Kokomo. 27 December – No gig.”  Beneath this latter, I appended: “Plus support”.  My hormone-scrambled teenage brain obviously thought it was funny at the time.  Clearly, I’d learned nothing from having been beaten up by a prefect a few years earlier when I entered “Lady Godiva” into the school swimming gala.

Party Bookings Taken
The Christmas show drew a huge crowd, promising two or three bands plus a DJ and a stripper.  We were on nodding terms with the DJ.  Think of all the Simon Bates, Gary Davis, and DLT clichés and he adhered to them.  Although, to be fair, he probably hasn’t troubled Operation Yewtree.  As for the stripper… this was my first time and I’ve blanked out a certain amount.  She was a fairly ordinary looking, long-haired white woman who did her routine pretty quickly.  No tattoos, no piercings, no Brazilian shaving, no surgery or enhancements – these were simpler times.  I spent the whole act focused on the main issue, which was: Shit, what if my mother finds out?

All England Games Shown Live
There were the bands I saw at the Torrington and the ones that I somehow inexplicably missed.  Why did I not manage to mooch along for the Sensational Alex Harvey Band?  Now, that would have been a tick-off.  But I saw Dr Feelgood in their original incarnation with mop-topped Wilko Johnson and his 1000 yard stare as scary as hell as he paced metronomically backwards and forwards whilst chopping out electrifying guitar riffs.  I saw Brinsley Schwarz complete with Nick Lowe.  I also saw hastily assembled supergroups that might include the likes of Mike Patto, Carol Grimes and Dave “I Hear You Knocking” Edmunds.  I saw The Flying Aces – a version of Welsh psych-rock pioneers Man – and I spent the whole show clutching the 12 inch cardboard LP sleeve of Deke Leonard’s album which some of them had played on and which they autographed for me in the cupboard that passed for a dressing room to the side of the barely raised stage.  Sensibly, I’d left the actual vinyl record at home for fear of damage.
I saw the Kursaal Flyers and String Driven Thing.  The list goes on.
The 1970s witnessed a massive 1950s revival.  This was apparent from the more commercial acts who filled “Top of the Pops” every week: Mud, Alvin Stardust, Showaddywaddy, Suzi Quatro and (whisper it) Gary Glitter.  In Torrington terms, pub rock meant bands who could play 3 verses, a bridge and a chorus; who could sprinkle their set with classic American rock ‘n’ roll standards such as “Route 66” or “Get Out of Denver”; who could encore with “Johnny B. Goode” with the crowd jabbing back with “Go! Go, Johnny, go!”  A night at the Torrington was a musical education in the roots of the music that I loved, that powered my bloodstream. 

Special Offers on Bottled Beers During World Cup
The biggest star I ever saw at this 100 to 150 capacity back room was Shakin’ Stevens.  This was way back when, believe it or not, he had real credibility.  Backed by his tight outfit The Sunsets, this was before he did a year in the West End playing Elvis; this was before “Green Door” and “Merry Christmas Everyone”; this was before screaming and fainting female fans; before the hypnotic leg-jerking in slacks; before the snowman jumper and other chunky knitwear.  Like fans of a lower league team who’ve drawn Arsenal or Man United in the FA Cup, John and I found our home venue “taken” that night by dozens of itinerant rockabillies: appearing as if from time capsules, Brylcreemed quiffs immaculate, dressed in leather jackets or brothel creepers, motorbikes parked outside and egos in full flow within.  It was quite a night as Shaky and his crew turned the clock back to 1956.  I’d seen him stand on top of a piano on TV during a performance of “Mean Woman Blues”.  To his credit, he attempted it that evening, even though the ceiling was pretty low, maybe 8 or 10 feet high.  The show ended shambolically with a huddle of drunken biker types mobbing what passed for a stage.  Most of us lived to tell the tale.

Smoking Area Available
I almost didn’t live to tell that tale.  One evening I was standing nodding my head in time with some rhythm and blues band or other when a guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder.  “Your coat’s on fire,” he stated laconically. 
I panicked and ripped off my blue quilted jacket to discover a perfect, expanding burn-hole caused by somebody’s lit cigarette.  Nylon can go up in seconds and I was lucky to extinguish the fire quickly.  In fact, I showed off the damage like a battle scar for the next few months.  I don’t miss smoking in pubs one bit. 

Special Offers on Selected Beers
Lager was even fizzier in those days.  Well brought up, I didn’t tend to use shop doorways on the way home but instead made my way to the public convenience in Stanhope Road that was open all hours.  It seems unthinkable now that an unstaffed gent’s could be open on a side street on a Sunday at 11pm but… more innocent times, I suppose.

Watch Premier League Games Live Here
The best group I ever saw at the Torrington was one you may never have heard of: A Band Called O.  They were a five piece with a lead singer sporting blond curly locks – like a later version of me in my twenties or like a younger Robert Plant.  His name was Pix.  I wanted to be him.  They went down a storm on their first visit with a catchy yet dreamy set and were re-booked for a rapid return.  They were later signed to a major label – CBS/Epic – and released an execrable debut LP that had been produced to vacuity.  John bought it and we listened intently.  It sounded nothing like the band we knew and, in turn, led to nothing.  Sadly, a typical tale from the time. 
When punk crashed the airwaves in the mid to late seventies, pub rock became derided and the scene shifted to spittoons and ripped out cinemas to catch – or be caught by – the happening bands.  And yet many of punk’s progenitors cut their teeth on the pub rock circuit – the aforementioned Nick Lowe, Joe Strummer in the 101ers, Ian Dury in Kilburn and the High Roads.  In a recent BBC Four documentary, Wilko Johnson spoke of driving up to the Torrington all the way from Canvey Island in order to check out the opposition.
It was a scene; now long gone.  It was a happy ritual; now long gone.  It was my youth.
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Allen Ashley is an Author, Poet and Singer. For full details see Allens website http://allenashley.com/ . Guest blogs are always welcome at The Barnet Eye. (Allen is also a long time musical collaborator with Rog T in the False Dots). We are featuring this guest blog as part of our special series for the #SaveLondonMusic campaign.

Your last chance this year to see Barnet - The Billion Pound Gamble and The False Dots !

So do you have any plans for tomorrow night (Friday). If the answer is "No", tehn why not come down to Friern Barnet library for an evening of film, poetry and musical entertainment. To kick the evening off we are showing "Barnet - The Billion Pound Gamble". We then have a fantastic evening planned with poetry and live music. As the court action to evict the peoples library is occurring next Monday and Tuesday (at Finchley Court - Please come along and support us), it is possible that it will be the last ever Friday night of entertainment at the Library. As such I am honoured that the library have asked me to arrange the entertainment. I wanted to do something in keeping with the theme of the library, so I got in touch with Allen Ashley, an award winning author, who used to sing with my band - The False Dots - back in 1985. During that period we played many gigs around London as well as abroad and built up a big following.

We have not played together since, but both felt Friern Library was a suitable venue for a reunion. Initially the plan was to play an acoustic set, but a chance meeting with our ex drummer Graham Ramsey, lead to a full reunion of the band. Sadly both of the bass players we used have tragically passed away, so Fil Ross, who has played guitar with the current line up for fourteen years stepped into the breach.

Allen and myself initially approached rehearsals with a degree of trepidation. We are both very different personalities and we had a sparky relationship. When we played the songs, we found that they sounded better than ever. A couple of songs have dated (which we dropped), but the majority of the set sounds very fresh and current. We even managed to write a new song "In a Silent place", about the dangers of rekindling old relationships on Facebook. We also rearranged the song "If you don't try" to be about the closure of the Library.

We will also be having a collection for the legal fund fighting the One Barnet madness. If you care about your community, please try and come down at 7pm to the Library. We will be done by 10pm. We are planning a
drink in the Royal British Legion afterwards, if you want to make a proper night of it !

Of course, the big battle will be in the court on Monday and Tuesday. We need to make sure that we pack the venue so that Barnet can see the strength of love for the Library.

You can find out more about Allens writing at his website - http://www.allenashley.com/biblio.htm

I could have been like Ester Rantzen, but she said I was too handsome !

Last night, I went off to the London Collegiate School in Edgware, for the Radio 4 "Any Questions" show. I had hoped to ask the following question :-

"Does the panel agree that First Capital Connect should be stripped of its franchise for its poor performance"

Sadly for me, they didn't select my question. The panel consisted of Benedict Brogan, deputy editor of the Daily Telegraph, Frances Crook, Director of the Howard League for Penal reform, Brian Paddick, former deputy chief of the Met, and  Esther Rantzen. The audience had a good smattering of students of the school and the setting was impressive, a far better auditorium than any I've done a gig in, during my long illustrious music career (then again Rock and Roll is all about playing toilets).

When I saw the panel, I groaned. I can't stand Esther Rantzen. As regular readers know, I'm one to bear  a grudge and I've had a grudge for many a year against Ms Rantzen. I can't stand her. In my teens (before I was old, fat and going grey), I saw an advert for presenters on a show Ms Rantzen was doing (it might have been Thats Life). Having done a bit of acting and thinking "They do good stuff exposing dodgy washing machine salesmen".  I thought this might be a good job for me, so I applied. Next thing I was given a date for the auditions. Off I went with all of the other hopefuls. I've done many auditions in my life, so I looked at the opposition. Being a bit of an old hand I did the usual of checking out the oppo. I normally wrote them off if they brought mum or dad for support (clearly not up to the job), then you see how they look. Any with a lazy eye, stammer, etc generally could be written off as well (unless that was a specific requirement in the brief). That brought it down to four or five. You listen to their accent. There was one girl who was georgious. Clearly the serious opposition. I thought I'd check her out (purely for professional reasons, Heh Heh). Up I bowled "done much of this sort of stuff?". She replied "Oh yes, I do radio for BBC West Midlands". Yup, serious contender. She was the first in and she was out within seconds. "How did it go?" I asked. She looked a bit upset. "It was awful, I walked in and they told me I wasn't really what they were looking for". "Lunatics I thought". Sadly she declined my kind offer of a quick drink. One of the advantages of the name "Tichborne" is that these things are generally done alphabetically. Most of the oppo are usually rubbish, so you get the chance to really shine. Early contenders are dimmed by this. In they went, out they came. I always took a watch and would time them. That gave me some idea of the oppo, their strengths and what I had to do. It seemed they liked the ones with a bit more character. The front runner had a bit of a plumby voice and a slightly deranged look. Interesting. I can do plumby voice and slightly deranged look if I have to, so I figured I was good to go.

If you are going for a reporter job, you have to show that you are on the ball, and can be interesting. You have to be able to think on your feet and take the lead. I went in "Mr Tichborne, you are the last one, we can all go to the pub when we've done, so what do you have to say for yourself". I quipped back "Well if we are going to the pub, I'll have a pint of best, is it on expenses?". They sniggered. "What makes you want to be a reporter on the show?" Well easy peasy "Well, mainly for the dosh, no seriously, I enjoy meeting people and I think that this sort of show makes a difference and helps people". Yup job done. On to the screentest. Again a breeze. Next up, you wait for the call. A couple of days later, a letter pops through the door "Nice try, but no cigar this time". Now I was mildly surprised. I wasn't cross or upset. These things happen and generally it's just because they want a specific look or someone really great turned up. I'd not done any TV work for 10 years, so maybe I just wasn't as good as I thought. No problem.

A couple of weeks later I was at Dingwalls for a gig. I think it was Paul Carrick, although I may be wrong. I found myself at the bar, next to one of the production team. They recognised me and said "Hey, it's Roger isn't it?". I responded "Yeah, Hi, how's the show going?" We chatted for a while and had a few drinks. As the conversation progressed, I was told "Actually, you did really well. You looked great in front of the camera and were really funny". Thanks I said (the industry is full of this sort of BS). My new found friend continued "the only reason you didn't get it was because you were too young, too good looking and too funny". I was surprised "What? Why?". My friend responded "Well you see, with Esther being the star of the show, we couldn't have anyone stealing her thunder, we needed someone who was a bit stranger looking, a bit more awkward with a bit less confidence".

Now I was shocked. I'd never heard of anyone failing in TV because they were too good (although I've subsequently found out it is a common reason). I formed an instant loathing of Esther Rantzen.

This takes us to last nights show. The nearest I'd got to Esther Rantzen for 30 years. At these shows it's common to have a warm up question to test levels. Who should ask the question, but our very own Mill Hill Conservative Councillor, John Hart. John actually asked the best question of the night, which was a shame because it wasn't broadcast. "Why does the BBC dump female presenters when they reach a certain age". Sadly for John, he'd not picked his audience well. The head of radio 4 responded that he was asking the wrong person, because radio 4 employed plenty of female presenters of a certain age. All I could think of was Esther Rantzen and her policy which was the complete opposite, not giving someone who was young, good looking and male a chance, when they really needed it.

I co-wrote a song with Allen Lucas (now known as author Allen Ashley) in the False Dots called "I wanna be" to commemorate the whole sorry tale, back in 1985. Alan took my orignal words and changed most of them. The only couplet that survived was the line "I wanna be like Esther Rantzen, but they said I was too handsome". I'd never told a soul why I wrote it. I thought it was a bit embarrasing.

Seeing the smug old Moo up on the stage last night, giving it large about everything, I felt the time had come to spill the beans to the world.

Pic (Pic 1 - Esther Rantzen, Pic 2 - Rog Circa 1985 - Too handsome for Esther Rantzen - Judge for yourself)

*** Note & correction *** Got an email from my old friend Allen Ashley, in which he tells me he wrote the couplet. He's not prone to exaggeration, but I'm sure he's got this one wrong, as it was 25 years ago and we both ahd reason to write it, I guess we'll just have to differ, but it's a great line. He was right to point out that the song name was "Shoes and Socks" rather than "I wanna be". I've not played it since 1985, hence the error. One day I'm going to drag Allen into the studio and record a few of the old numbers from that period. They are all great songs and some are really funny. He was always a massive pleasure to work with and quite rightly pointed out in his email that I wasn't really cut out to be a "Thats Life" presenter.

47 lessons for life

As I've recently entered my 48th year, I thought I'd share with all of you the 47 lessons I've learned in my previous 47 years

(Picture left - This is why I'm still semi sane - daughter & wife)

1962 - Jehovahs Witnesses is a bad, dangerous religion. This was the first lesson I learned on the day I was born. I was dragged kicking and screaming into this world nearly 7 weeks early, as a result of something called "blue baby" syndrome (caused by the Rhesus factor). These days it's cured by a simple injection but in 1962, I needed 4 blood transfusions to keep me alive. As such I can't join the JW's - they won't have me, even though I had no say in the matter. Tainted blood !

1963 - Pissing on the bluebells is the secret to success in life. I may not have spoken till I was 4, but I was potty trained by 1 years old. I saw my brother pissing on the bluebells at the bottom of the garden and though "I can do that"

1964 - When in doubt, say nothing. As I said, I was a very late talker. I spent 1964 just watching.

1965 - Spiders scare girls ! We used to have a decrepid old shed. In the shed, there lived a monstrous spider we used to call the crab. My sisters were mightily scared of the crab. Me, I was fascinated.

1966 - It's great to win the world cup. Not many people had a telly at that time. We did so we had loads of people round to watch the final. Not yet being 4 years old, I have memories of a great party because England won the world cup. I didn't really watch the football though, but I remember the fun we had. I thought to myself - football is fun, we'll do this every year.

1967 - If you want your cake, you have to demand it. Not having spoken at all, having been taken to clinics to test for deafness (& just been diagnosed as very stupid) I finally decided to talk. My first words were at the dinner table - "I wanna piece of cake" -as ever no manners and no please or thank you.

1968 - If you have to eat cold baked beans, eat cold baked beans. I was a child model/actor. My biggest success was a Heinz baked beans advert. "We can't go on holiday without the beans mum". I got the part because at the screen test, all the other kids refused to eat the plate of cold baked beans they were presented with. I heard them scream and wail and knew what had to be done. The director asked me "Do you like cold baked beans?" I replied "No, I'm acting"

1969 - Adverts are all lies. I did an advert for Lucozade. For those of you who only know modern styles of Lucozade, the original stuff was sold as a drink for people who were dying. Their slogan was "Lucozade AIDS recovery". They abandoned that when HIV appeared. Whilst I could stomach cold beans, Lucozade was a bridge too far. Never mind though, they just gave me a glass of Tizer instead.

1970 - England don't always win the world cup. Much to my surprise and horror, the Germans beat us in the quarter finals. The Germans ! How could this be? We'd beaten them in two world wars and a world cup final. We were clearly nobbled. Then I found out about Gordon Banks being ill. My fears were confirmed.

1971 - Never trust technology - I'd been fascinated by the space race, NASA and other such things. I can remember reading with excitement that NASA was sending a probe - Mariner 8 to Mars. It blew up on the Launch pad.

1972 - You won't rule - 1972 was the year I got music. Children of the Revolution by T Rex. The message (to me at least) was one of nihilism. As I was bottom of the class at everything I got it big time.

1973 - No matter how bad things are, they can always get worse. I'd hated Primary School. I begged for release. I went to secondary school. Things got worse.

1974 - Hard work doesn't always get you anything at all. I'd decided that I'd try at school. We had a biology project. I worked really hard, went to the library, did my research. I still got a "D".

1975 - Beer is great. I went on my own to my first football match. West Ham Vs Manchester City. I hooked up with a group of City fans who took me to the pub and got me completely pissed. It was great.

1976 - Girls can make you behave completely out of character. This was the year in which I found that in the right circumstances, you could become extremely attracted to girls you didn't really fancy at all. This resulted in some extremely bizarre behaviour.

1977 - Punk Rock Rules - June 6th 1977 - I went to see the Ramones, The Talking Heads and the Saints at the Roundhouse. It changed my life. After that moment, nothing was ever quite the same again.

1978 - Take nothing for granted. I had a masterplan. I had been accepted for a Gas engineering scholarship. This meant that I'd go to college in Salford to do A-Levels then to University to do gas engineering. I'd be out of home, out of school, have money and a fresh start.I'd get paid a salary as well. I needed to pass 4 O-Levels including Maths. I'd got 96% in the maths mock. I did no more work and failed it. I got rejected.

1979 - Get a band. On moving to Orange Hill School, a plan came together. I'd wanted to form a band since seeing the Ramones. I didn't know how and couldn't play guitar. Pete Conway and I bought guitars in 1978. on 14th Feb 1979, we had the first rehearsal of the False Dots. It was truly shambolic. It was awesome. (Footnote: My folks had put all of the money I'd earned doing commercials and adverts into a bank account. I was allowed access at age 16. I'd immediately gone and bought a guitar and an amp. They were none too pleased.)

1980 - Don't trust your friends. We did our first gig this year. My very best friend, songwriting partner and co-founder of the False Dots, Pete Conway bottled out and didn't turn up for the gig. We got through it. We never looked back.

1981 - Follow that Girl to the ends of the Earth. The very best thing I ever did was to go with my mates Brian, Steve and Paul to Dingwalls in the summer of 1981. I saw a couple of Swedish girls there. One was my idea of the perfect woman. We ended up all going back to their hotel and drinking all night. I invited myself over to Stockholm to see her. I spent the last 3 months of 1981 over there and it was awesome.

1982 - Touring with your band is the best fun known to man. Whilst in Stockholm, I booked a tour for the False Dots, with a local band "The Gagget band". It was the best fun I've ever had.

1983 - Never owe a bad man a penny. Following our Swedish romp, I ended up with huge debts. We'd drunk the profits (and the money I'd borrowed to finance the tour). My Dad bailed me out. He made a simpel deal "You're my bitch until you've paid back every penny". I had to wash cars in the freezing cold and every week I had to pay him. He told me he was teaching me a harsh lesson. Still it was better than broken legs, which was the other alternative. In October 1983, I got a job in IT following a TOPS course, as I had to be free of debt. I gave the old man every penny of my first months salary in cash. He gave it back to me and said "I didn't want the money, I wanted you to learn". I didn't get it for a few years but I do now.


1984 - All your dreams can turn to dust. I started 1984 as positive as I could be. We had a fantastic singer - Venessa Sagoe. I had money, I had a stable relationship with someone I loved dearly. I ended the year single, with no band and in hospital having nearly died of a stomach bleed. I felt let down by everyone. I'd sold my soul for the band and they'd just walked when we were on the verge of great things. I found a few things out later which changed my view of the break up, but at the time I was bitter as hell. I still think they should have stuck it out though. As to the break up of my relationship. That was totally my fault. As to the failure of my health. That was down to my doctor prescribing a dodgy drug for an ear infection, which burned a hole in my stomach. Later, when I applied for health insurance and was denied, I got a copy of the report. It said it was down to excessive drinking. I've never trusted a Doctor since.

1985 - Never give up. Following the end of the Venessa Sagoe line up of the Dots, I was distraught. I spent a good six months just sitting at home practising the guitar. To be honest, that was when I really learned to play properly (one of the bugbears of my old bandmates). I got a new band together with Allen Lucas (now known as Allen Ashley a successful author) and bonkers drummer Graham Ramsey. In some ways this was the best line up of all, as we were truly unique.

1986 - Don't sell out. Following the departure of Allen Lucas who wanted to persue his teaching career and couldn't commit to a life of Rock and Roll debauchery, a rather unpleasant character known as Mark the Fascist turned up. He was a great singer, but a truly repugnant person. He was a devious scheming conniving toad. He engineered the sacking of my great friend, bonkers drummer Graham Ramsey, changed the name of the band to "Urban Dance" and we expanded to being a 9 piece, with a brass section. I despised the whole thing and never recorded the gigs in my scrapbook. I just kept going because I felt I had to. I should have never agreed to his joining in the first place. I believe he added nothing at all. Sadly I found myself lumbered in a business partnership with him, through the studios till 1994. I fell out permenantly with my best friend as a result of his connivings. When Graham Ramsey got diagnosed as bonkers, he asked me where Mark lived as he wanted to murder him. He said "I'm certified now so it doesn't matter." I never condone violence, but for a moment I seriously thought of telling Graham.

1987 - Cherish the people you love. My dad died in January 1987. I thought he was indestructable. He had a heart attack and was gone. We had massive rows, but there was huge love between us. I just wish I'd spent a bit more time with him. In 1986 he had his gall bladder removed and when I saw him he looked like death. I prayed "please lord, let him get better so can take him out for a curry, just once". He made a great recovery, I took him for the curry, then he flew out to Florida. That was the last time I saw him.

1988 - Keep having parties - My mum was devastated by my Dad dying. I didn't know how to cheer her up, so I had a barbeque for the family. She smiled for the first time in a year when everyone turned up. We got horribly drunk and the world was sort of OK for a short while. After that I always tried to have another party to look forward to.

1989 - Sometimes it's the mad people who are right. We were having a rehearsal. By this time, I had no energy for the band. I was exhausted and could see no point to any of it. We were just doing it out of habit. Graham Ramsey, our drummer had a mate called Buddah. Buddah used to come down, watch us play, and get really stoned. He never said anything. Rehearsals were often just long, free form jam sessions. At one rehearsal, Buddah brought down his pet tarantuala. He sat in the corner smoking joint after joint, with a tarantual on top of his head. At this point I was at a real low. Afterwards, Graham said to me that it was our best reheasal ever. His words "What could be better than better than rehearsing with a bloke in the corner with a poisonous spider on his head"

1990 - Sometimes, enough is enough. In 1990 I put the guitar down for ever. I'd had enough. I wanted to concentrate on the studio and having a life. We'd found a great singer called Tony, who I really liked, but we just couldn't make it work. I realised that if that wouldn't work, nothing would. Time for a change.

1991 - Follow the cash. I formulated my masterplan. The studio had been tottering along, going nowhere for too long. We had a great a facility but as we had a gang of four running it, we could decide nothing. On top of that , one of the four was a very destructive influence, who added nothing, yet sought a veto on everything. I'd been working at a large company in IT for a while and they offered me redundancy and a payoff. I took it, then got a juicy contract. I worked out a plan to buy my partners out. I figured that if I did 2 years of contracting, I'd be in a position to sort it out. That gave me the opportunity to get experience of running a company properly.

1992 - If you see an opportunity, grab it. In 1991 a band called "The Sway" started to rehearse at the studio. I thought they were great and as I had plenty of cash & contacts at the time, thought it was a great opportunity to get into management. I managed them for 2 1/2 years. I spent over £100,000 on promoting them. I didn't get a penny back. They had 2 national tours, were BBC WM band of the week. They did 2 singles, which got substantial airplay. Do I regret it? Not at all. You have to pay for your education and I think the lessons I learned there were quite cheap. The main one? If you have a good accountant, a loss isn't what you thought it was.

1993 - Right time, right place isn't always enough. The main reason I'd got involved with The Sway was because I felt the time was right for a guitar based indie band. I was right. The trouble was, that band was Oasis.

1994. Bad people have no place in your life. This was the year I bought my ex partners out of the studio and I was finally rid of Mark the Fascist. Ernie Ferebee came in as my new partner in the studio. I put to him my business plan. Within 5 years, we'd take the studios from 2 rooms to 5 rooms and a shop. We spent the next 3 years rummaging through skips, working till 3 in the morning (often whilst doing a 9-5 IT contract) but we hit our target 2 years early. Buying out my partners and getting in Ernie was the 2nd best decision of my life.

1995 - Treat those you love properly. I've had a few great relationships in my life. They've all ended badly because I can be a complete dickhead. All apart from one and even that had a serious gap between 1992 and 1994 (down to me being a bad person). In Feb 1994, my good lady showed me a little piece of plastic and said "is that line blue". We married a couple of months later. My daughter Madeleine was born in October. Of all the decisions I've made, being with Clare is the best (hope she feels the same).

1996 - You've got to work on your dreams. Small baby, struggling business. What do you do? You work your nuts off. This was the make or break year for the studio. We went from 2 to 4 studios. Studio 3 was a massive project and 90% of the materials we used were recovered from skips. Only nails, plaster cement and sand was bought in. I learned to lay bricks & decorate at school. Ernie was a plasterer. I had no social life at all in 1996. I was laying bricks on Xmas day.

1997 - You have to take a chance to get anywhere. We decided to open the shop. As neither of us had any retail background, we didn't know where to start. Many mistakes were made. As we fitted out the shop ourself, we fitted it out and stocked it on a budget of £8,000. Half of the stock was my own guitars and amps, just put in to make it look like we had some stock. It worked.

1998 - Give people a chance. This was the year we launched our recording studio. Caroline Stratten had just finished at Leeds Uni and wanted to get into music. I offered her bad wages, lots of hassle and mad customers. I just asked for a commitment to stay a year and said I'd pay for her to do a course. She did a fine job, stayed 18 months and got us off the ground. She's now a VT editor and does live football for Sky.

1999 - Never say never. In 1990, I'd hung up the guitar for good. I'd said "That's it". In 1999, a couple of the guys who worked for me at the studios, Tony and Fil persuaded me to have a jam. I really enjoyed it. I decided that as we had a studi, I'd get Paul our old bassplayer and record some of our old songs. That was it, The False Dots were alive again.

2000 - Life can bite your arse really hard. At the start of 2000, life was great. My mum had found happiness with a new partner and was going away on 4 cruises a year, the studio's and the shop were flourishing. My son was born to add to daughters Madeleine and Lizzie. We'd taken to going on holidays with my mum, sometimes taking Clare's folks. Ernie was doing a fantastic job at the studios. He'd married his partner Michelle and had three great kids. In August 2000, Ernie was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, with a prognosis of 3 months. He lasted till February 2001. To make matters worse, my mum had a stroke in December. She went from being a lively, attractive, articulate woman, enjoying he life, to an unhappy invalid. She lost the ability to speak and all self confidence. We'd had a big party to celebrate the millenium. There was no party at all for new year 2001.

2001 - Life is precious. In September 2000, I'd decided to go to Lourdes in France as a helper with a group of handicapped adults, the following year. There was no real reason for this, other than my continual need to challenge myself. I go to church, but I'm really not a deeply religious or spiritual person. As I went, I was rather angry with God. he'd stolen my best friend, he'd robbed my mum of her faculties. I found myself with a group of strangers, in a situation I wasn't even sure I wanted to be in. I will share a terrible secret. When I wentto Lourdes, I went wishing my mum had died when she had her stroke. I thought that her life had been degraded to a point where it was worthless. Spending a week with some terribly disabled people, changed my opinion. I cam back realising that I had a personal responsibility to help her enjoy her twighlight. Many people see care as a physical thing. I disagree, I see it as a spiritual thing. I promised that I would never leave her house without making her smile. Many people who are carers think "I've wiped their arse, that's enough". It isn't. You have to make the people you care for be glad to be alive. I love life, I've made terrible mistakes, but it's so precious.

2003 - Second time around can be better. We did a few gigs in 2003. We asked my old mate Boz Boorer who plays with Morrissey to join us for a couple. I actually realised that I was enjoying the band. Even more strangely, I realised that there was no pressure. We didn't want a record deal, so we could just enjoy the music and express ourselves. Friends who saw us first time round all said we're better now. I started recording that long awaited album. It's still in process and it's getting better all the time.

2004 - Enjoy your children when they are young. I took a decision to take my foot off the gas with work and spend a bit more time with the kids. For a year, I walked them up to school and walked them home. We collected conkers, we goofed in the park. Most guys never do it. If it was a nice day, I'd drop them at school at the Ridgeway, then go for a walk around the fields between Mill Hill and Totteridge. Most working men miss all of this. Fools.

2005 - Miracles can happen. What is a miracle? The type that impress me are the ones, not where someone is suddenly cured of cancer (well that would, but you know what I mean). They are things which you though wouldn't happen. In 2001 I went to Lourdes and prayed for my mum. I went wishing she'd died when she had her stroke. I came home, determined to make her twighlight years as happy as I could. In 2005, my mum accompanied me back to Lourdes. At an evening service, she stood up and lit a candle and said a prayer for my dad. If you had seen her on December 17th 2000 when she had the stroke, you'd realise how much of a miracle that was. That was the best she was following her stroke. For a short while, I thought she might get back completely. I was wrong but that was a pretty good time.

2006 - Age changes nothing. My Missus turned 40. She's just as great as she was when she was 19, when we first met. It's not age that changes you, it's illness and bad things. I see somne people I know having a mid life crisis. They buy the Porshe, they get the young girlfriend. Now that's their business, but if Mrs T kicked me out (which heaven knows she should have years ago), I'd want someone who had lived, someone with experience, someone who got what I was talking about. On the plane home from Florida, I read John Lydon's book No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs. His partner (for the last 30 years) is 19 years older than him. I get that.

2007 - If you fall down, you've got to pick yourself up and keep going. Just as I thought my mum was getting over her stroke, she had a fall and broke her hip. She nearly died. She had to have an emegency op. She then was transferred to Finchley Memorial hospital for rehab. There she caught C-Diff. She nearly died again. She was so out of it at one stage that she thought my daughter Madeleine was her brother Jimmy (which rather upset Maddie). She had wierd and vivid hallucinations, which she told me about months after. She was never the same after that, but boy did she fight. I wish I had half the fight in me that my mum had. She didn't moan about it, she just got on with it.

2008 - You have to fight. This was the year that I realised that the people running the NHS, the Council & the Government are a bunch of self serving leeches. Not the people on the ground doing the work, but the people at the top. I had first started to realise this at easter 2007, when Barnet Council outsourced the Meals on Wheels contract, but hadn't realised just how bad it was. The full horror became apparent when I started writing a blog on the Hendon Times. Just because I had the temerity to criticise the Council, they pulled out every trick in the book to shut me down. Eventually they succeeded, but not before they'd totally convinced me that all of the shenanigans they get up to need to be exposed.

2009 - There is never enough time. Last year, in May my wifes Dad died. He was quite old and had become very infirm. He died at home, but for the last couple of year he was attended every day by carers. One of these was a Nigerian guy called Olu. Whatever people tell you about Nigerians, I'd say Olu is an outstanding human being. I feel honoured to call him a friend. In August 2008 my Mum died. I was in LA at the time. She'd lost her eyesight and was deeply unhappy. I didn't want her to die. I was really sad, but her time had come. In January this year, Clare's mum, who was a young 75 year old was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. She lasted till March. Wheras her dad and my mum had reached their time, she hadn't. It seemed rather cruel. We're now both orphans. Cherish those you love. There's never enough time.

I hope that something in this blog helps you. There's 47 lessons for life here. I really don't have the answers though, I wish I did. One thing I have learned and I never, ever swear in this blog but I FUCKING HATE CANCER.