The last time we moored there we were the furthest mooring away from the entrance to the marina.  We couldn’t park there this time as Kevins and Stukie’s  lungs would not hold out during the 10 minute walk to the gate. The harbour masters found this mooring closer to the entrance to the marina.  It was a bit tight and I put a small scrape along the side of the hull, nothing serious, just a bit of a scratch where a chunk of the wooden walkway leapt out and attacked the boat.  Kevin was busy protecting the side of the boat that wasn’t in danger.  Stucky  was up the front  making sure I didn’t ram anything. I got it wrong!


It turned out that the small scratch could be rubbed out, but I took the opportunity of repairing a small chunk that  had bin taking out the bow  by the previous owner.


We decided we would stick the roof up.  it is a canvas top erected by stainless steel rods.  The three of us did not have a clue.  Eventually we got it  up and I almost heard round of applause from the surrounding boats.  It must’ve looked like a scene from the generation game  or possibly, last of the summer wine.  We took it down the day we sailed, as we kept banging our heads on the poles.


On the Friday I was to do a gig in Falmouth.  My agent Chris Davies  had been really concerned about this gig.  They hadn’t sold many tickets.  He called the many times but got no sense from them.  It was a small 400 seater venue, we had only sold 200 tickets.  The gig for the following evening in Torquay had sold 900.  Something was wrong.  I immediately cancelled our plan to sail to Falmouth  as this is a 150 mile round trip and would use  too much fuel.  200 people would not be enough to cover the costs.  No problem we would hire a car and drive there.

I called up a local car hire company called Enterprise  and booked a Mercedes.  The man on the phone was very helpful and kept saying “perfect”


Friday at 11 o’clock Kevin and I got a taxi to the enterprise office.  We waited in the queue and heard a young lady talking to the people in front of us.  She said,” perfect” every other word.

We eventually got her attention,  and I filled in the form.  I presented her with my driving license and my VISA  card.  She said that she could not accept the card as it was a debit card and not a credit card. She told me I could have a cheaper car with a debit card.  Perfect… I asked which one could I have? and she told me she didn’t have any…” perfect my arse”


Kevin and I  set off walking back to Torquay.  We then flagged down a nice old taxi driver who took us to Thrifty, the car hire company  at the Torquay railway station.


Thank heavens it was a grown-up  behind the counter.  He promptly gave us a BMW M4.


We drove back to the boat, loaded up with merchandise, and set off for the 2 ½ hour journey to Falmouth.


On arrival we noticed the car park was full, with no parking space saved for us. So, it would seem no one had read the contract.  But, it was no big deal and we made our way to the theatre.  It didn’t look like a theatre it looked like a community centre.  There was nothing to say who was on, in fact, there was nothing to say it was a theatre.

I entered the building and spoke to the pleasant elderly lady at the box office. I asked who was on she told me it was me and that I had been there the year before…I hadn’t. The place was crawling with families and kids taking advantage of the garden and the restaurant that was run by millennials.

I went on stage and was greeted by  more millenials ginger woman with iron in her face another guy and a man in shorts who constantly had his head in an I phone. The lights were aimed all over the place and the PA system was as if Hawkwind were on their way.


I asked to see the lighting…my guess is that the guy had not done it before.  The lady with the metal bits explained that she was the events manager. The bloke in the shorts produced a radio mike and I said “one two”   It was surprisingly not rotten.


I would use no lights and leave the lights on that the cleaners use.


I went and bought Kev and I a burger in the Bar. There were lots of people eating. The waitress aged 12  behind the bar had to ask her friend if they were still serving food. The fire alarm went off for 10 minutes and nobody did a thing! A man in the restaurant asked me what I was doing in Falmouth?

I went out to the car and got changed in the carpark. It was becoming obvious that this lot couldn’t give a fuck!

I walked up the stage stairs at 1935 and commenced as the audience drifted in from the bar.

Two and a half hours later  we went back to Torquay and had a bowl of soup on the boat.


The place should be closed as a waste of money.  or sack the morons that run it and get some grown-ups who know about theatre. Or plod on with tribute acts who know no better.


It will be, and has been, reported as my fault.   Never again

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