Blazing Taddles!!
At the beginning of the year in which Lancashire Hot Pot became the most talked about gastric dish, I started my work experience at Brighton Electric. I was excited about the thing as I had been rehearsing at the place for a few years and was thrilled to be getting involved. My motive on doing this was to obtain a job at the noise hole, and the information given by the management was that this was the best way to do it. As you can imagine, this was motivation enough for me to dive head long in to the role and list of jobs that would soon become the weekly grind. These days health and safety pretty much has the world by the short and curlies, so a modern day work ex will be confined to refill the printer and stock the fridges. Was a different story in time. Not that I’m complaining about the state of affairs I found myself in, I liked my job, still do, and even back in work ex days was very happy in my role, and was told by a vast amount of the staff that I was good at what I did and should expect a job at the end of the trial period.
So it all came as a bit of a shock when at the end of my ten week stint, I was told that the management didn’t think too highly of me and it had been nice but the time had come to part ways. To the casual observer it would appear that fate had sneaked up behind me with a bit of lead piping, and you wouldn’t of been far wrong, but, hear the sequel!
Can’t of been more than a couple of weeks later that my band, Ragweed, were ear marked to play at the Brighton Electric Great Escape After Party. Rocking up to the venue and putting in a rather topping performance, if I do say so, resulted in some heavy drinking at the place. Now, we all know that there’s nothing like a few buckets of the stuff to put you in the just the right frame of mind to deal with a situation, and such proved to be the case at this Brighton Electric party. Due to some bright spark posting the event on a rave website, the place had become like one of those Babylon orgys, and it was beginning to break the back of the staff on duty there. You couldn’t bung a brick with out hitting some rowdy rebel, or plastered passer. In short, the staff hadn’t the numbers, and it was time for Tad to prove he did not live for pleasure alone and when called upon, could spit on his hands and get down to it with the best of them.
It was around 5 in the morning that I was still there helping the management eject the less welcome members of the crowd and putting the place back together. During this civil unrest the management had been saying that they would pay me for the help I had provided on this fateful night, but each time this remark was made the only response I would utter was “Just give me a job”. Over and over and over. Finally, at dawn that day, the official end of the event, I was rewarded with the management promising to call me later in the week with the details of my employment.
And there you have it, if you made it to the end you have my sympathy and support. Don’t forget to check out the other Brighton Electric tales, my personal favourite is the tale of Ticks and the turd. Keep safe and we’ll see you soon.
