A number of years ago we played a gig in Armagh in N. Ireland. In those days the city centre was closed to traffic at night with security gates. So if you had to get in for any reason you had to go to the police station and they would drive with you to the security gates unlock them and let you in. They would usually search your vehicle as well to make sure you were'nt carrying explosives etc.

We arrived at the police station in plenty of time only to have the cop who was going to open the gates for us decide he was not only going to search our vehicle but also do a safety inspection. He made us take every piece of equipment out, now we were a five piece rock band and we had a lot of gear. He then proceeded to write us up for a burned out brake light, bald tires and a cracked wing mirror. The inspection took him forever it seemed, while we tried to explain that we were getting close to being late for our gig. He ignored our complaints he seemed to be enjoying himself. Finally he told us we could put our gear back in the van and we drove trough the gates.

Now this gig had to be seen to be believed. It was called the milestone then. God knows what its called now. We had to carry all our gear up a fire escape at the back of the building. The stairs were really narrow and we had a hell of a time getting our PA speakers around a corner near the top. It necessatated my brother and I leaning out over the handrail with the speakers on our chests, two stories up and no safety net.

The owner of the pub was furious with us for being late and then told us that we would have to shift a juke box off the small stage which really could only hold the drummer. The rest of us had to stand on the floor. We had people bumping into us and were in real danger of loosing teeth as the mike stands wobbled back and forward as we sang.

We were'nt allowed to take a break and at the end of the night he took ten pound off our wages.

We decided we would spend the money on a carry out and head back home for a drink. So we then had to navigate the friggin' stairs again in the dark, packed up and left.

It gets worse. We had to call the cops again to let us out the security gates. They said they would meet us there. As we were driving down the street a British soldier ran out of nowhere and made us stop the van. He told us not to go down the main street. He was still moving up the street as he spoke and weaving a little. We were'nt sure what to do it was a strange situation. We decided to keep going as the police were going to meet us at the gates. We were soon surrounded by soldiers pointing guns at us. Now you don't get too excited about this sort of thing when you lived in N.Ireland in the 70's. We just stopped the van. One of the soldiers who turned out to be the sergeant told us to stand against a wall. They were a Scottish regiment and it was the night before St. Andrew's and these guys had been drinking. Now I've seen lots of crap in N. Ireland but what happened next was one of the worst. The bastards proceeded to drink our carry out. The made us stand there against a friggin' wall while they swilled our beer.

When the police arrived the little short arse sergeant told us we could go and they moved off up the street as the cops unlocked the gates. So there you have it folks the gig from hell in deed. Den