Here we go again (no more...)

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Well, it’s a week since the last show, and my feet still haven’t touched the ground. After 14 shows and 23 days spent mostly travelling and sight-seeing, I’m shattered: my health is wrecked (I god a bad gold id by dose, anyway); my brain is addled; and my husband’s response is: “and you are?”… How the Jukes do it and play night after night so immaculately, I simply do not know.

So the first thing I have to say in conclusion is a big thank you once again to Southside, Chris, Joe B, Ricky, Bobby L, Ed, Neal, Muddy, and Joey; Hood, Sean and Joe P; the Druids; Tony and Paul; and Bill and Graham for coming all that way, spending so long away so far from home, putting up with the weather, bad roads, uncomfortable hotels, funny food and even funnier accents all around them, and still coming on stage every night with such a whole-hearted, giving-it-all attitude, never once taking it easy or going through the motions, but playing (or helping) their big, big hearts out every single night. And for being so kind, friendly and gracious whenever we met them; despite my clumsy, tongue-tied and no doubt tedious expression of the sentiment, I hope they know we truly do appreciate it.

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Here we go (Amsterdam, The Paradiso)

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After (finally) a quiet night in at Marjan’s (thank you Marjan!) we arose feeling resasonably rested for a change and headed into Amsterdam, collecting Maurice, Doug, Karin, Carina and Guido on the way, and set off to see some sights. We visited a photography exhibition with great pics of C Berry, F Domino, J Brown, J Cocker, Stones, Who etc, and peeked into several others in the arty Speigelgraacht area, wended our way over several canals, saw the Beginhof (an old convent, a bit of peace in the centre of the city), rooted through a huge record store, ate pancakes and still were on the steps of the Paradiso by 6 pm.

December 5 in The Netherlands is Sinterklaasavond, the festival of St Nicholas, when schools have no lessons and a half-day holiday and people exchange gifts of special chocs and cakes. In particular, it’s traditional to get a lovely bar of rich chocolate in the shape of the initial letter of your name. So Evelien (Marjan’s daughter, the young fan whom Southside brought on stage to dance with him in Amsterdam last year) made up a Santa sack with nicely wrapped chocolate letters for each of the Jukes and crew and delivered it to the stage door of the Paradiso.

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Here we go again (Osnabrück, X-Mas)

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Well, I got out of bed in London at 5.30 am, got the plane to Amsterdam, met Marjan, who then – thanks, Marjan!’ – drove us to into Germany, where we met Doug, Steve, Carina, two Johns, Glasgow and Watford, Maggie, Marc, Richard, Ender, Ulla and so many other friends old and new, had a Jukes Xmas party, drove back to Amsterdam and got back to bed at 6.30am the following day. Wow. I haven´t pulled a 24 hr partying shift for about 25 years.

Oh, but what a swell party it was! The Lagerhalle sits in an arch in the wall of the old part of Osnabruck (parties of tourists were following historically-dressed, lantern-bearing guides on ghosts walks past it as we approached); but inside it’s a very smart complex with a huge bar in front of the venue and another one upstairs, and facilities going on and on (up two flights to the cloakroom and down one to the rest rooms, past a spookily illuminated hole with plaster lizards in it. We were greeted at the door by Klaus in his own historical dress (a 3-piece suit of Jukes circa ’77 vintage) and entered to find buffets piled high with succulent meats, side dishes and deserts and a free bar for the duration. This had to be Jukes heaven!

The amazing Reiner, who had organised the whole party, gave a gracious speech to throw the proceedings open (though, as I may have mentioned, the bar already was) and welcomed guests from the UK, US, Canada, Belgium, The Netherlands, Italy, Spain, Sweden and Switzerland to huge cheers – we all really did feel welcome.

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Here we go (Bristol, The Fleece)

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I’m now feeling a little drained after another great show, and a rather emotional one, given we were saying goodbye to some of our tour companions. Brian and Mickey B get this year’s Trains, Boats & Planes award for Hard Touring after spending most of the day in strike-bound captivity the wrong side of the Channel and still making it to the show. Safe journey home, B’s and it was lovely to see you over here. Same, too, to Miss October and everyone else who’s gone home. And hi and welcome to Gary, whose first Jukes show it was: hope you had a good time.

Once again I have to give heartfelt thanks to the Jukes for their spirit, good humour and wonderful playing in what could have been a disastrous venue. Also huge appreciation for the skill of Lord Reggae Sean, Joe Da Prince and Hood (no epithet suffices) in getting the Jukes set up and producing great sound in an awkward space.

First, the background. Bristol is an old port and trading city on our west coast, and The Fleece is a (pretty small) pub made out of the trading floor of an old wool exchange. It’s all old stone, with cast iron pillars holding up the ceiling and obstructing, not only the audience’s view and dancing, but the space on the (already tiny) stage. (At one point South came face to face with a pillar as he approached the edge of the stage and addressed it: “Hi, How’re ya doing?”)

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Here we go (Home again)

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Got to bed after Southampton at 4 am and failed to get back to sleep after hubby went to work at 7, so bleared around all day. However, we could not stay curled up at home tonight as it’s Liz’s birthday! And Marjan and I are invited – hooray! – to celebrate with her at a nice pub in the village of Wrecclesham where Micky Kemp and band played for her and a large and lively gathering of friends and family All Night Long at what was definitely the best birthday party I ever attended.

Actually, I don’t think Micky played All Night Long, but I didn’t write down the setlist as my wrist needed rest and I didn’t want to spend Liz’s birthday working…But he had certainly learnt, for Liz’s sake, a whole bunch of Jukes songs: I know he did Hearts of Stone, All I Needed Was You, Talk To Me and I Don’t Want To Go Home, with Glasgow John on backing vocals.

Micky instructed John to “do Southside” so we were treated to the highly unusual sight of Glasgow John waving his arms wildly and even actually dancing – or certainly moving his feet. But of course he was supposed to be doing Southside!

Micky also did some of the nicest of his own songs: Falling Apart At The Seams, Marianne, Taking Care of Midnight; a bunch of Bruce, including No Surrender and From Small Things Big Things Come, which led to a rousing version of Dave Edmunds’ You Keep A-Knocking. Other highlights were Sweet Little Sixteen (which of course is what Liz has just now attained, and no arguments, please), She’s About A Mover, Copperhead Road and a drum solo which Micky insisted had to be”double-time”, and then “triple-time” in an attempt to outdo Joe at Southampton.

And after that memory fails, but not before noting that a jolly good time was had by all.

Here we go (Southampton, The Brook)

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So all the English, US and Dutch people slowly (though far too early) rose this morning from where they had strewn themselves about my house and we sorted ourselves into train schedules and carloads. Many thanks to Steve, of this board, who ended up driving us to Southampton and all the way home, a very great kindness. And he also gave me glossy prints of the London gig, how nice.

Southampton was a great, fun, brilliant show. The Brook is a real nice club; not smart or pretentious in any way, just an intimate space with a dancefloor and a balcony all round and a high stage so most everyone can see and the atmosphere is somehow just right.

And the Jukes revelled in it, right back on song and all playing the most marvellous stuff.

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Here we go (Milton Keynes, The Stables)

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Hi all from your slightly worn and wearying reporter. Sorry I don’t have time, with a house full of guests and Southampton to get to, to do any proper blogging today. But here’s a pretty full account of the show (though I don’t guarantee, given my current rate of progress towards brain death, that it’s all here or all accurate. I may well be having hallucinations by now).

The only touristic description of MK I’ve read says that nobody goes there. But The Stables is down a remote little country lane outside the town, and a lot of people make the pilgrimage there as it was opened by a famous British jazz couple – John Dankworth and Cleo Laine, sax player and singer, who lead a big band and had it designed for that kind of music. It’s a 350-seat theatre, with a very steep rake and a low stage (see later) so the band are in an intimate kind of bowl; everyone can see; and usually the sound is superb.

There were clearly some problems last night, though, where we were, the horns sounded absolutely superb, the solos better than ever, and it was a real pity South couldn’t hear himself, ‘cos he sounded magnificent to us. It’s also a pity that, having not seen them last year, MK evidently got unused to the Jukes and didn’t get up out of their seats, for the most part, until the encores – although me, Liz, Karin, Deborah, da Druids, Miss October and Kirsten, at least, were bopping in the aisles from early on.

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Here we go (London, off again)

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So a small and select international group (2 US visitors, one from The Netherlands and one from Newcastle) set off with me for a tour of some essential London sights (some well-known, others not so). My guests are to be congratulated (and sympathised with) for following me, as I can walk around London all day.

We saw: Bloomsbury and the British Museum; Covent Garden and the Royal Opera House (and Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, where I saw Oliver! when I was little) (or littler, anyway); the old Inns of Court in Holborn; Fleet Street and the house of Dr Johnson; St Pauls’Cathedral; the Millenium Bridge and its view of the River; the City and the Bank of England, Lord Mayor’s Mansion House, the Guidhall, old Leadenhall Market and the brand-new high-tec Lloyd’s and Gherkin buildlings; Spitalfields and its market and its Hugenot silk weavers’ houses; and finally over the river to the Dickensian Borough (Bill Sykes’s hang out) and past HMS Belfast and the new City Hall (known to Londoners as the Glass Testicle) to Tower Bridge, where we had dinner in a resturant on the River (thank you, Brian).

It was a lovely day (well, I enjoyed it anyway) and the weather was nice for us – not a drop of rain. The one disappointment was that I wanted to show my guests the Victorian office building on the river by St Paul’s which is called Sir John Lyon House – and they have knocked it down (the sods). The Jukestour jinx strikes again: all that’s left is a hole in the ground! (But now there is only ONE Sir John Lyon, just like WE always knew there was).

Finally: a full night’s sleep! What could be nicer? Ho for Milton Keynes!

Here we go (Deal, Astor Theatre)

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I have to be quick today as our guests are waiting for a tour of old London town but will try to convey another most lovely show: this incarnation of da Jukes is really starting to gel; the wonderful sound guys are letting us hear them all; the crowds in hitherto unvisited regions are really appreciative; South is singing stronger and stronger; and it all makes for a fun, upbeat and very musical night.

Once I had gathered my two guests and my dear helpful hubby had filled up and cleaned the car, we set out intrepidly to Deal with a non-driver (me) trying to direct a driver who normally drives the wrong side of the road (for England, that is). This was complicated by the fact that hubby forgot to explain how to work the lights. But we got there! Hooray! And thank you to brilliant driver Marjan. Found the venue, met up with Doug, Steve, Brian and Mickey, Miss October, Kirsten, Liz, Karin, Glasgow John and Watford John and Cecilia. And Mercandise Paul, his first date this tour, lovely to see him again. Had a quick and very breezy look at the (pebble) beach and the old cottages around it, and got a plate of chips and some fine beer in a nice old pub on the sea-front.

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Here we go (London, Astoria)

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We spent the day walking London: Buckingham Palace, the Tate Gallery and the River, Piccadilly Circus, the Xmas lights in Regent Street, Libety’s store, Carnaby Street and though Soho to the Dog and Duck pub. There, and at the show, we met so many great old and new friends: Brian B and Micky; Steve, Kent; Steve, LI; Andy and friends; Deborah and sisters; Shaggy and Mrs Shaggy; the famous Peter Owen; Tony, Leighton Buzzard; Miss October; Wally and Co from Spain and of course Karin. So sorry Liz wasn’t well and that Cavi and Evelien couldn’t come – we’ll see you later.

For reasons which may be apparent, the following may not make much sense. That entirely apart, it was a glorious show (everyone said so). The old Astoria in old Soho is a quintessential London rock club: in a basement, black-painted, with surly door staff and no amenities save an overworked bar, just a floor and a big, high stage. It was packed with fans going utterly crazy; the Jukes were at the top of their game; and South was apparently enjoying it, full of chat and stories and, once the monitors were (promptly, thanks guys) sorted, singing like your wildest dream (“You made me sound like Pavarotti. The looking like Pavarotti I can do for myself”).

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