Following two hours of interminably boring speeches at a mason's ladies night. As soon as I started to sing they all exhaled in joy and began to chat. I finished the song, they ignored me. I began to talk to them, they ignored me. I started the next song, they ignored me. I unplugged my gear and reckoned I had fifty seconds to make it to the car park. "I think this is a mis-booking ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy your conversations and have a nice evening" Exit left. Guitar in case, gear in bag, out through the swing doors,nearly at the entrance, man comes racing out. "You get back in here and sing, you're being paid. How dare you walk out!" "Sorry" I said, (this being the Thatcher years) "I won't accept a fee. I don't do this just for money" He gaped at me. I had the necessary thirty seconds to get to the door, sling the gear in the back and get in the car and lock the doors. Three of them chased me down the road.
Then there was the Bailey's night club. I thought it was a strange venue. A thick-set man showed me the dressing room. The door was off its hinges and had holes kicked in it. "What happened" I asked. "They didn't like the actlast night" he said. Then I found it was a stag night. Men only. I had half an hour to do to open. They found me inconceivable, so much so that they just sat there as I did my stuff. They stared, waiting for the joke to be revealed. I consider my survival one of my greatest achievements.
Then there was the night at a naval mess where I followed Tommy Trinder (English music hall artist) at one o'clock in the morning. Fortunately the audience was so drunk they fell asleep. Tommy sat all through my 45 minutes with his funny little music hall hat on his head. he knew I was suffering as much as he was, but we were both determined we would get paid!
I blame agents!