A chalet park, Rye (East Sussex), New Year's Eve 1993. Our rock'n roll trio had been booked to play there for a bunch of people from London. The park was normally closed, but had been specially opened for this group of - as it turned out - 30 people. We got there in thick fog, lugged the gear in to the clubhouse. No food. No decorations. No staff. No people.

Eventually a barman appeared and served drinks. Then the punters arrived . Turned out to be some of London's East Enders who just wanted to drink their way solidly through New Year for 2 days (this was before the UKs licensing laws became more liberal). We played. Every song in our repertoire, from 8.30pm to 1am in the morning, including "Aud Lang Syne" and all the usual New Year stuff. No response - no applause - no comment - no dancing - nothing. They just sat at their tables, drinking and chatting.

We finished and were told "the cheque will be in the post to your agent". So we drove home...

The cheque eventually rrived about 2 months later, when we learnt that, in order to have the place legally open and able to serve drinks, there had to be "entertainment" - we were the fall guys... We got £1,000 - a lot of money in those days - but vowed we'd never - NEVER - play New Year's Eve again. And I haven't since.