Something For The Weekend 36

Dear Dave,

Well… as Rod Stewart used to say… do ya think I’m sexy?... eh, sorry, I mean… TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT… because in approximately eight hours or so I’ll be stepping out of a warm bubble bath and strapping myself into some “slimming” underwear before slipping on my black jeans from 1988 and then very quickly slipping out of them to try on some sensible slacks and a nice polo shirt instead, all in preparation for taking the stage for the triumphant homecoming return of The Signals.

Expectations about the gig are at fever pitch from the conversations I’ve managed to overhear between the many voices in my head and I’ve taken the day off work to catch up on napping as well as some “entertaining” with the fans that have been parked outside my house all week. Final rehearsals went very smoothly on Wednesday night – we turned up at the practice room on time and remembered each other’s names – so it only remains to be seen if we can pull off the biggest comeback since that time in the pub when you said something really stupid and I totally ripped the piss out of you with a cracking one-liner that left you shattered and humiliated, bubbling like a big cry baby with your self-esteem strewn in tatters on the saloon floor. Good times.

Actually, talking about comebacks, remember earlier in the week when I was whinging about not getting any substantial coverage in the local paper? Well, I was flicking through Volume 9 of The Definitive Signals Anthology the other day – that’s the one with all the pictures and pop-up features of various band members *snigger*– and I came across this classic cutting from 1991 when the Falkirk Herald was proclaiming the first of our many comebacks.

As you can see from the photo, young guitarist Billy Boo Bob (second from the right) was still sporting his Witness Protection Scheme Moustache™ which sort of explains why we’d been absent from the music scene for a while. But that’s not the whole story. I know you’re probably drooling over the rugged features of drummer Handsome Doug (extreme right) and thinking how cool he looks as a master of the dying art of pensive chin-clenching but the truth is he super-glued his hand to his face in 1989 and gave up gigging for a while after suffering a torrent of inappropriate “he’s no Def Leppard” abuse. From our bass player.

Anyway… 1991… Christ, that wasn’t yesterday but some things never change. I see from the photo that I appear to be wearing the classic rock ‘n roll ensemble of blue jeans and black t-shirt. If my sensible slacks and nice polo shirt turn up in the laundry basket later, I know what I’ll be wearing instead.

Have a great weekend Dave, whatever you do, and if you can make it to the gig then all the better. Perhaps Bruce will bring his little video camera and we’ll finally get some footage on t’internet. Just don’t give the camera to He Who Shall Not Be Named.

Cheers, Edge