Saturday, Day 10, July 5th

Wake up call could be likened to being thrown into an ice-bath after you’ve just been in a Jacuzzi. I hate them with every ounce of my body, but they are a fact of life. So I go to the bus about 10am and sat down, lowered the seat to the ‘near-bed’ position and snoozed a bit. I was awoken by Glenn’s bitching about his flight being separate from ours (he was to fly Heathrow – Charles de Gaulle- Madrid Bilbao) and he was right. We did our 2 hour flight to Madrid with ease and nice chicken meal. On the flight to Bilbao, Rusty and I sat next to a character who ordered a round from the steward, ‘Tres cervesas, por favour,’ he ordered, and it was done. This flight was 90 minutes long. Unfortunately, Glenn missed a flight and pretty much said, ‘fuck it’ and went back to London. No doubt (knowing Glenn) not without calling Air France all sorts of cute English bad words. We didn’t blame him a bit.

Got to Hotel at exactly 11pm and was told to be downstairs at 11.15pm, this is the kinda life we live. Who likes being herded around like cattle!! But so it goes. Got to festival about 11.30pm. Met up with one of the organisers, Kike(who we’ve known since ’94) and my old friend, Ingrid, who looked great with her multi-coloured hair. Her Beau, Lolo, was home with the flu and thus missed the concert. And despite the awful sound and shite monitors, we did alright. Finished rocking around 2am. Signed some autographs for some very nice Spanish fans. Got offered LOADS of hash, turned all of it down. As a matter of fact, my throat was hurting from all the ciggy smoke at the Spanish airport (trust me, it’s practically comical how the no-smoking areas go un-enforced in Spain).

Kike and Ingrid invited us all out to a bar called ‘Guochokoe’ but we couldn’t find it and, given that it was now 3.30am (people actually START partying at 3.30am in Spain!), we all called it a day. I had my own hotel room and so I felt safe from any attacks from Mr Chapple.

Mike Randle