With Paul Cardwell
I always worry that when my turn comes round to writing this column I will have had a boring week and done absolutely nothing of interest.
So when I got invited for a night out in Glasgow (practically a holiday) on Saturday I jumped at the chance hoping it might throw some of the famous ‘Glesga banter’ my way to share with you.
Turns out it was one of the best nights I’ve had in ages ... but with not a Glaswegian in sight.
The reason for going west was to watch a band that my friend who I met on a high school exchange in America 10 years ago was playing with.
The gig was decent, the band had a few hits I knew and few I didn’t (new album).
Afterwards was a whole new experience though.
I went back-stage and found out that everything I’ve ever imagined bands to be like was true.
You can picture the scene - smoke filled back room, comfy couches, discarded instruments and a ‘rider’ for all to help themselves to made up mainly of fast food and gallons of alcohol. There was even groupies who seemed impressed with me on the simple basis that I knew someone in the band. It was brilliant.
After a while spent in there it was time for everyone to go to a nearby club where there was more of the same special treatment from the owner and the band ended up playing a DJ set.
Come 4.00 a.m., and time for the band to set off on the next leg of their tour (the glamorous Wolverhampton), I have to admit I was three sheets to the wind and contemplated jacking in my job and joining them on their state of the art tour bus and becoming a roadie.
Sadly their tour manager was slightly less inebriated and I didn’t find myself waking up in the Midlands.
But still it was a bit better than the Saturday night I had originally planned to tell you about spent with Dermot O’Leary and Bruce Forsyth.
This week ... watched Raith Rovers in Gaelic ... watched the Madeleine McCann ‘Crimewatch’ ... considered learning an instrument