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with a weird collection of Urban Neo Fascists, Punks, Techno Junkies and Anoraks to get in. A bigger collection of hooks, spikes, studs, green hair, no hair, and painted leather jackets would be hard to find this side of Nebworth. (These events really do seem to bring them all out!) Id called the organisers the day before just to confirm the big man was still coming, Nathan had knocked out some official looking Club ID badges for us and there we stood, "loaded for bear" as they say in the U.S of A. Eventually (would you
believe it we were twenty minutes early!) we were allowed to
jostle our way in. For some reason which no one seemed able to
explain at the time, a Robert De Niro look alike (Well I think
he was a look alike) stood in the entrance hall handing out programmes.
I took one and smiled. The hall - for those requiring a panoramic description, was filled with traders stalls, and must have been about a hundred foot square with a huge domed gilt ceiling. Near the back of the room an elevated stage section containing a table, a collection of decomposing rubber heads and a microphone, held the promise of delights to come. Several old Reunion 96 faces had turned up, amongst them our man Ray Armfield and that redoubtable conventioneer Adrian Hulme. We stood and chatted for a bit, a small clique of Survivors fans amongst a whole sea of Zombie type people. (They had the bad grace incidentally to look at us as though we were the |
weirdos!) Time
ticked on, traders sucked money out of a largely captive audience.
More time ticked on. In desperation I hunted down one of the
organisers. "Look is Mr McCulloch actually coming,"
I demanded. He gave me a confused smile. "Who...?"
he said. Now I have to take a
break from the narrative at this point, in order to establish
some basic character background. Lynne was a bad mother. No Im
sorry she was, it has to be said. You |