Back in the flow....at last!!

Slack von Slackerton the slacker.

Goddamn, over 4 months since the last post!! To be fair, it's been on my mind to write for weeks (months) but life seems pretty busy right now and it's just been difficult finding the right combination of time and energy, seems to always be one without the other. I do actually have plans for several long pieces, mostly regards various memories and happenings from the 80's, a la the hitching post I wrote but for now here's just a little catch up on what's afoot in my small universe.

Limbs - Group show / pop-up shop.

I've just had to delete what I'd initially written here and start again as I had started this blog post a couple of weeks before the show but now it's suddenly a month or two after....oops!!! So, instead of a progress report here's a review of the event and everything it meant in regards to finally getting my mojo back with my art.

I was just re-reading an interview I did with CAVEAT! zine from Malaysia back in 2020 about my artwork where I felt I'd been particularly negative about my working practice and inspiration at the time. One of the questions I was asked was - 

Any bands/individuals would you like to collaborate with in the future?

Not right now, to be honest I think I just need to get to a place where I'm feeling excited and energetic about my own work again. I don't feel like I'd have much to contribute to any collaborations at the moment. At the risk of repeating myself I feel like I need to step right back, reassess things. What am I trying to do? Why am I doing it? I think I need a reset before I really feel like I have anything to bring to the table, There are so many people doing so many amazing things out there right now but I don't really feel part of it.

That answer pretty much summed up how I was feeling at that time (and had been for some time). However, having been a part of the LIMBS collaboration with my friends for the past few months really gave me the boost and focus I'd needed for so long and actually feel like I can call myself a working artist again. I'd felt like a fraud for so long. At this point I really have to thank my good friend Katri for inviting me to be part of this event. The whole thing was her brainchild and she really drove the whole collaboration which really has proved to be such an important catalyst and will hopefully lead onto other exciting things. 

https://www.instagram.com/limbs_collaboration

Of course I couldn't do things the easy way. Despite being asked to be part of this at the end of February, giving me a full 8 months or so to get some new work together I didn't actually put paint to canvas until a month before the show. I had been doodling and going through ideas in sketchbooks etc but nothing was sticking, I was overthinking everything and couldn't find a focus or decide what it was that I wanted to do. Initially I had thought about a series of large charcoal drawings but I wasn't very happy with my first attempts, then I thought I'd like to make some large, loose and energetic paintings, perhaps even a set of abstract works. In the end I was still procrastinating and jumping from idea to idea without committing to anything when there was just a month to go. So I just bought a bunch of different sized canvas' and decided to just start painting with no real clear plan and just see where it took me. In the end I started by simply covering the white space with various tonal, colour experiments I'd initially explored in my sketchbooks. At this point I kept to my original brief of working fast and without too much thought. I just needed to make a start, make some marks. So I quickly had 4 paintings on the go at once. I haven't worked in this way for a very long time. Generally I'll work on one piece, one project at a time, taking it to it's conclusion until I move onto something different. It really was quite liberating to have multiple works in progress concurrently. It meant I meant I could be working on one and when I felt I wasn't sure where to go and hit any kind of block could just put it aside and work on another. I'd also decided to work in acrylic which again I hadn't done for a very long while and certainly not on canvas. I think last time I was painting on paper, card and board. 

It proved to be the most intense and productive month I have had for years, it was certainly very stressful at times but if there is such a thing as 'good stress' then this was it. As well as having multiple paintings on the go I had also decided that I wanted to make floating frames for them all. I'd never done that before so a quick YouTube tutorial was in order before I went out to but supplies. So for the last couple of weeks I was working every hour I could get, burning the midnight oil, running between the spare bedroom/makeshift studio with paintings in various states and the garage where wood was being measured, cut, glued, varnished etc. I was still finishing the actual paintings in the early hours of the day of the opening, quickly varnishing them before going to bed. I then discovered that as I'd only had time for one coat they had dried patchy so had to apply another coat first thing in the morning (you're supposed to leave at least 24 hours in-between layers) and then just hope it would be dry enough by the evenings opening event. I had to also fix the still sticky canvasses into the hastily assembled frames in the morning. It felt like I was a contestant on one of those cheesy tv reality shows where you're trying to create something against the clock. Despite everything feeling like a massive rush at the end I was pretty happy with how they had all turned out and only one of the frames was seriously wonky, not that anyone else seemed to notice (or were perhaps too polite to mention).

I don't think I've worked with that kind of intensity since I was getting everything ready for my Visual Studies degree show some 22 year ago ( I can't believe it was that long ago!!!!). Although leaving everything until just a month before meant lots of stress i think it's probably the only way I was going to do this. I wish it wasn't the case but I do tend to work best under pressure. Anyway, after all that hanging the work in the space came together miraculously easy and quickly, for us all I think. Everyone's work looked great and it was such a buzz to see how we'd all manged to pull everything together. The whole weekend was a lot of fun if quite exhausting and I definitely think we've learned a lot about what to do and not do and what we can do better if/when we do something like this again. Thanks to everyone who came down and supported us and everyone who bought work or just came for a chat.

Regarding the work itself, it had been a few years since I'd last worked on canvas in acrylic but I was surprised at how quickly I got into the groove with it and found it pretty satisfying and that things more or less went as I'd hoped with both a few mistakes but also some happy accidents along the way. Typically though the idea of loose and energetic work seemed to quickly go out of the window and I ended up working in a much tighter more controlled way, I just don't seem to be able to help myself so decided not to fight against it and just go with it. Of course some paintings worked better than others and I think if I'd started earlier and had more time there's a couple I would have worked further on and that could have been developed more. Although I have definitely been guilty of overworking paintings and drawings on many occasions so the time constraint not giving me that luxury was probably a good thing. Sometimes I really don't know when to stop and when something is finished. All in all it was a great starting point though and a medium I'm planning on continuing working with for the foreseeable future.

The pick of the bunch on a personal level was the largest of the quartet, 'Ascension', this is also the one that I had the least idea about where it was going when I started it and took a few surprising twists and turns along the way. To be honest, after I've finished a particular piece my default setting seems to generally set somewhere between indifference, disappointment and loathing. I'm rarely happy with something directly after the fact and often have to come back with a fresh eye months (or sometimes years) later to appreciate it at all, however with this painting I was actually really happy immediately, and still enjoy just looking at it, so much so that I've hung it in my front room at home. Hopefully that's a feeling I can replicate more often in work going forward.

Ascension - Acrylic on canvas 75 x 60cm

Uncomfortable scratching into the Young Mid's mind.

A few blog posts that I've had planned for a while have been prompted by old cassette recordings that I've recently digitized, for example an old Deviated Instinct practice compilation featuring recordings from late 1984 and early 1985 with short local news items recorded from the TV from the time in-between songs (Crass stylee), specifically about the doomed Norwich 'No Business as Usual' demonstration and the eviction of the Argyle Street squat, both of which happened in the early months of 1985. I remember Leggo had just bought a little hi-fi with a double cassette deck in it so that we could copy tapes and it was using this that we put this little compilation together that we sent out to a few friends and probably made it onto a few tape trader lists. I plan to stick this up on YouTube soon with accompanying posts both about the failed demo and it's aftermath, we were ALL (as in everyone) arrested following that and the court cases dragged on for months, plus my recollections from the 6 months or so living in the squat. My memory is (and sadly has always been) dreadful, if it wasn't for photographic evidence I'd barely believe I was actually around in the 80's, so scant and blurred are my recollections. Thankfully I have a few old diaries, of course I didn't write half as much as I wished I had and during the most fun and crazy times 86-89 I didn't write anything but I do have odd stuff between 82 and 85 and a snippet or two from 86 which is helping put things together a bit. I've been methodically going through them and typing up every word so that from now on I'll have a digital record. Both to remind myself and also because my writing is so fucking unreadable it will be good to finally have it all deciphered. Unfortunately of course, much of what teenaged Mid had to say was extremely cringe inducing. At times I kind of want to climb back through the pages and give my younger self a good slap. Between the diaries, the calendar pages within plus the fact that I've literally kept every single pen pal letter and general band correspondence during all the 80's I've been able to piece certain events back together in a vaguely crusty detective manner.

I used to also keep gig lists, I have lists that go from my very first gig in 1980 until a few months into 1986 when I guess I just got lazy and stopped. This drives me crazy as this was just when I started seriously travelling all over the country following bands, visiting friends and going to gigs in all manner of places as opposed to simply local gigs in the early 80's. It makes me weep to think of the literally hundreds of amazing bands I've probably completely forgotten I saw through the second half of the 80's and the entire 90's and half the 00's, I only started making a list again in 2014

I'm a fucking idiot!!! Oh well, nothing new there.

I've gotta say it's also really great to have a whole array of books detailing personal accounts from the early-mid 80's Anarcho punk scenes such as 'Not just Bits of Paper', 'And all around was Darkness' etc

I want to put things in context by writing about all the demos I was attending prior to that No Business as Usual demo that, like many smaller gatherings around the country at the time was very much inspired by the Stop the City demonstrations in London, 2 or 3 of which I had attended in 83/4 and which there is some really valuable accounts in aforementioned books as well as the book 'The Aesthetic of our Anger' which I'm also currently working through. Anyway this is all a project for next month I think.

Some of my Anarcho punk tomes.

Once more into the fray

My plan is to write at least one blog post a month this year, hopefully somewhat more focussed than this little mishmash of a post but it's good to at least wake this up again. That's alongside a million other plans and ideas that have been fighting for breathing space inside my jumbled brain. It's always like this at the beginning of a new year, I'm generally full of positivity and good intensions which invariably wane pretty quickly. I have to say that 20 days into 2022 I'm still burning bright with the creative spirit though and am trying my best to be just a little bit more organized and focussed than usual. I'll share more of my personal projects and hopes and wotnot as the year unravels.

Soundtrack to this post has mostly been LOW who I am on a massive kick with at the minute.

Sacramento 2010 and general ramblings.

I recently came across the MP3's from this gig back in 2010 hidden away in a dusty corner of my hard drive. From what I remember one of the guys from Cura Cochino sent it to me, he'd asked if we'd be happy for them to release it as a live cd on Buried in Hell Records. We thanked him for the recording but politely declined the offer as we didn't really think the quality/playing warranted a physical release. however, going back to listen to it now although I still stand by the decision not to release it I definitely think it's worthy of sharing. The sound is a little up and down and broken up for the first minute or so while they're obviously getting levels but thereafter it's a pretty solid recording. A bit guitar and vocal heavy in the mix but has a nice raw energetic feel and is a cool document of the night / tour. At that point we were still just primarily playing old shit, Blunt Instrument being the only new tune in the set, also this one of the very few gigs where we played Void so it's cool to have a recording of that song.

It was one of those strange mid-tour gigs where you're in and out of a place so fast and you don't even see the city or anything. It was about half way through our 2010 West Coast US/Mexico/Canada tour, we'd just spent a few fun days in the Bay Area, we'd been staying/partying at our good buddy Rooster's old pad in Oakland and had played a couple of great gigs in Berkeley and San Francisco. 

We didn't leave the Bay Area until quite late so got to the gig space on the outskirts of Sacramento pretty much as it was all about to kick off. It was way out of town in some kind of storage unit/garage/ lockup(?) at the far end of some industrial estate. I don't recall getting to see Sacramental proper at all.

Now I think I should explain that upon getting to a venue the very first thing I generally do is check out the toilet situation. Even after all these decades I still get a level of nerves before I play, it appears no one else in the band does, it doesn't bother me though, I'm happy with that as to me it means I still really care (not that they don't of course) but anyway this means my nervous body says, "what? you gotta play? Right....you gotta shit!!", thus, while everyone is generally on stage setting up ready to play it'll be "where's Mid? oh right....toilet, pre-gig dump". It's s serious business. So...get to a venue, check out where the toilet is, what state is it in? As anyone who has played the Euro squat circuit will know you're very much playing Russian Roulette on that front. Anyway so it's 1 - Where's the toilet? 2 - Is there a door? 3 - Is there a lock on the door? 4 - Is there a seat? 5 - Is there any bog roll? etc, obviously if you hit a yes on all of those you're in toilet heaven, it's very rare though. I could write an entire post on toile horror stories of the world (as could any touring band). In this case it was very simple though.

There was no toilet. Nothing!! you couldn't even nip outside to slash in the empty parking lot either as their was a cop car sat opposite all night obviously on piss patrol. It must have been a quiet night in the neighbourhood..

So that meant before I could even think about playing I had to go on a toilet hunt. There weren't even any open stores or bars in the area and it was a good mile or so before me and Alicia found an out of the way Del Taco or Taco bell where I could utilise their facilities. We did get a burrito for the walk back of course.

The gig itself was pretty fun, there was only a small turnout, I don't know if it was because it was a Monday and out of town or whatever, it didn't really matter though. I'll always put as much in if it's 5 people or 500, I'm just chuffed to play. All the bands were great, everyone was super friendly and the few that were there were having a blast and everyone rocked hard. Plus they made a killer chilli.

D.I with some of the Sacto crew.

Anyway, as soon as the gig was done we hotfooted it out of town, I'm not sure if it was because we had nowhere to stay or just that Joe (our trusty driver for the tour) was keen to press on up north to his hometown of Portland but we just jumped back in the van and between him and Greg they pulled an all night drive up to Portland while we kipped in the van. Thus, we never did get to see Sacramento at all (hence no photos). maybe we'll come back some time, that'd be cool. 

Other news and general wiffling and waffling.

Firstly I'd like to thank everyone who checked out my Hitching Tales post a few weeks back. It got shared about quite a bit and has currently had over 550 reads which is super cool, I guess it was something a lot of other older folk could identify with and it was awesome to see others sharing their own hitching tales on Facebook. I do have plans for some other quite extensive posts about various memories/topics from the 80's, I just need to find the time. I guess there's no hurry though (well apart from my ever crumbling memory box).

Art life, I've been spectacularly unproductive of late. if you've read any of my previous posts about my problems with creative block, procrastination etc, well, writing about them hasn't helped at all as I've just been repeating all those various old bad habits. I'm still struggling over finding any focus and deciding which of the million ideas I should prioritise and work on. However there are a couple of exciting irons in the fire. Firstly, good friend and band mate, Katri (KatriK Design) has booked the space at Studio 20 here in downtown Norwich for a 3 day group exhibition/event in November which she's kindly asked me to be part of. I'll add more details about this once we get things all sorted but a bunch of us will be exhibiting and (hopefully) selling work and having a general grand ol' time. I'm super psyched about this, it gives me something to aim for and hopefully I can soon focus on getting a new series of work together. As I write this it is just over 6 months away but I don't want to get too comfortable with that thinking I have ages as I know how quickly that will fly by, I'm determined not to get to October and realise I suddenly have to rush to make work at the last minute. It's 22 years since I graduated at Art school and it's still a fairly regular anxiety dream where I dream it's literally the night before the private view and I suddenly discover I literally have no work at all and haven't even started yet!!!! From what I remember we had most of the last of the three years just to work on stuff for our show (alongside writing the infernal dissertation). Even being able to work on art all day every day (well apart from the evening job I had at Bertram Books) it was still a last minute stress so 6 months of only having evenings and weekends I'll need to be both organised and disciplined, neither of which are my strengths. It'll be good though and it's welcome pressure. I also have another exciting offer of a collaboration in the works, likewise more about that when I've something concrete on the go. Plenty to get my teeth into at the moment so I need to get with it and seize the day as they say.

It's all coming at a perfect time really, the latest lockdown is finally easing and fingers (and everything) crossed there's some light at the end of this long bullshit tunnel. I have recently been struggling with a little period of depression but feel like I'm through that black cloud for now, it's Spring (my favourite time of the year), started to see friends again, got some band practices booked for next month, plus a gig for later in the year so just hoping everything continues to settle down.

while I was struggling with my mood and general mental well being a while back I found welcome solace in losing myself in this. I always turn to this wonderful film, Sigur Ros is the best therapy, making  myself a cuppa and relaxing on the sofa and getting lost in these sights and sounds never fails to soothe the soul.

That'll do for for today, may I just add that this post was written hopped up on goofballs. Drinking a large cup of coffee immediately followed by a can of Tenzing Blackberry and acai energy drink wasn't a smart move.

I need to go for a run........................

On the Road to Nowhere. Hitching Tales.

Looking overjoyed to be on the road again, 1985

I recently read steve Ignorant's excellent autobiography 'The Rest is Propaganda' and had to chuckle when I came to this little passage where he describes the misery of his one and only foray into hitch hiking.

"From Bude it took us two days to hitch back to London. Two blokes hitching together don't get anywhere fast - I know that now. I spent the whole trip tired, hungry and wondering why I was doing it. Above all, I promised myself I'd never, ever do it again. By the time we walked back into Dial House any attraction hitching or camping could ever have held for me was stone cold dead. I've never been as glad to get anywhere in my life. A romantic way to travel? You're having a laugh."

That all rang so true. My hitching days were primarily between 1984-86, only a couple of years but our little Norwich crew were always travelling around the country going to gigs, visiting friends and whatnot and thumbing it along the highways and byways of this grey little island was our only way of getting around. Hardly anyone drove, certainly no one had a car and our meagre dole cheques couldn't stretch to the luxury of coach or train travel so getting out there on the slip roads and laybys and sticking out our hopeful grubby thumbs was the only option. Living out in Norwich didn't help, most bands didn't venture this far out East. It wasn't on the way to anywhere, there was no one passing through. Of all the many, many journeys I took I'm sure there were decent hitches where I'd get quick rides with nice people who took me right where I wanted to go but they are not the ones I remember. When I think back to those days I think back to being cold, being wet, standing by the side of the same stretch of road for 8 hours. Of cars pulling over a little way up the road only to suddenly roar off while laughing abuse just as you run up to get in. Of having to sleep in bushes and under bridges because you're stuck in the middle of nowhere, of getting picked up by creeps. Of constantly thinking as steve says "Why am I doing this?". I was happy when I decided it was no longer how I wanted to travel and I mostly think back to those journeys with a shudder but yet strangely it's still something I'm glad I did and certainly led to some fun times, seeing great bands and crazy times with friends from all over the country. 

I remember as a kid in the 70's you'd see hitchhikers all the time, even on the little local roads around my way outside Norwich, trying to get into the city. My dad never picked anyone up of course and I recall having this view that all hitchers were somehow on the fringes, hippies or whatever. It was similar to the tale we got told of squatters back then, I used to think squatters were people who would move into your house while you were on holiday and then it was impossible to get them out again. I vividly remember getting back from family holidays as a kid in the early 70's with a sense of relief to get home and discover that squatters hadn't taken over our house.

Anonymous stretch of road from an old roll of film. At a guess I'd say it's somewhere in the back end of beyond in the middle of the fens. I probably took this because it had been the same view I'd had for several long hours.

To get out of Norwich there were really only two main routes to go. If you were going to London (probably the most frequent hitch) then it was just a case of walking to the roundabout just on the edge of town and  getting on the A11 then onto the M11, unless you got dropped by Cambridge you could often get all the way there in one lift.  If you get stuck after an hour or so then you'd split up and hopefully meet up later at the destination. Even better than hitching alone though was to hitch with a girl, you'd let them stand in front and kind of lurk behind. I remember hitching with Mary a couple of times, she'd stand there, stick her chest out and you'd be guaranteed a lift almost immediately. She'd been a seasoned hitcher for a few years plus her somewhat outgoing and super confident personality was a bonus in getting attention.  Plus she'd always be super chatty (and a bit flirty) with the drivers which meant you could just sit quietly and enjoy the free ride. Occasionally if things weren't going well and there were a bunch of us she'd stand and hitch while we'd all hide in the bushes out of sight, cars would stop and she'd say "do you mind giving my friend a lift too?" and two or three of us would appear, sometimes they'd just drive off before we could get in but often they'd reluctantly give in, none too happy.

Leggo and Debbie taking the first hitch.

The other route out was by walking way out and hitching by the roundabout onto the dreaded A47 onto the A17, this was the route we had to take if we wanted to get to the midlands or anywhere North and was always such a lottery. Depending on where you were headed it generally meant lots of smaller lifts and knowing all the best hitching spots to get dropped along the way or you could very easily (and often were) dropped in the middle of nowhere by some farmer turning off onto some bumfuck village in the godforsaken Fens. First you had to get to Kings Lynn, get out on the outskirts and hitch on the slip road onto the A17 (one of the shittiest roads in the known universe) and then try and get a lift to Newark outside Nottingham where you would have to get dropped at a certain point before the town and then get onto the slip road onto the M1, once you were on that Motorway then you had the whole North ahead of you. This was the route of getting to Leeds and for many of the great gigs I saw at Adam and Eves.

When there were 5 or 6 of us all going to the same gig it would be a case of deciding who was going to go first and then taking turns and see who would get there first. It was always a drag if you drew the short straw and you had to watch your mates getting picked up and off and away but then equally such a blast when after getting picked up yourself you'd pass your mates at the side of the road stuck at some roundabout an hour down the road and give them a cheeky wave as you zoomed by. Very occasionally if you had a cool lift they'd sometimes stop and pick them up too if there was room. Then we'd all meet up in dribs and drabs with our dossbags and tales of our lifts in whatever city we were heading. It was such a blast to get an easy, drama free ride and then be able to just relax and get drunk. Then it'd just be a case of hoping you could find someone who'd put you up at the end of the night. In London that often meant jumping the tube and hossing off to some squat or other. If not it was a case of finding some cardboard and trying to find a quiet corner in a train station or something. Wherever you ended up there'd always be that horrible sinking feeling the next morning, waking up with a hangover knowing you had to take a ride out on the tube to Redbridge station, the last stop on the east bound line, where you could walk to where there was a slip road and long layby as the M1 motorway left London. Often, unless you got there super early there'd already be tons of hitchers waiting to take their turn and get out. It was always particularly grim if it was late afternoon and you still hadn't even got your first lift out of London yet. Oh the many, many miserable hours stood at Redbridge roundabout. Home never felt so far away.

I remember one time me and Snapa had hitched to London to see Antisect, it was out in Woolwich somewhere. When we finally got there we found out it had been cancelled at the last minute (always a risk back then) There were still a bunch of punks who'd travelled out just hanging about on the streets so we just got drunk anyway, Colin Jerwood from Conflict was there, I think maybe he'd been the one putting the gig on, anyway he said me and Snapa could doss round his flat for the night. He had to go somewhere and do something so just gave us vague directions and said he'd see us there later. it was somewhere way across London so we ended up taking a night bus with our little scrap of paper with directions. Of course we managed to both pass out on the bus and totally miss the stop, we woke up with the driver telling us to get off as he was parking up in the depot for the night. We had no idea where we were, what part of London even it was so we just wandered around looking for somewhere to sleep. We eventually spotted a horsebox attached to a car parked up in a car park. We were able to clamber up over the back doors and drop inside. At least we'd be dry for the night. We did manage to get a couple of hours kip but I was super paranoid about the owner arriving the the morning and driving off to god knows where without realising there were a couple of stowaways so we hopped out at the crack of dawn. Unfortunately a couple of hours curled up in the hay we absolutely reeked of horse shit. We did manage to find our way out to Redbridge and get a lift to Thetford, within 30 seconds of us getting in the car the driver had to open all the windows. I bet he was chuffed sick.

These two pics were taken from a trip me and Snapa made down to Brighton to see Antisect. I remember we decided to hitch the day before, probably worried that if we left on the same day we might end up getting stuck and not make the gig. A wise decision as these were taken the morning after a particularly cold and uncomfortable night spent under a motorway bridge somewhere south of London. I remember that Snapa had a sleeping bag but for some insane reason I'd decided to bring nothing but that small, thin and painfully inadequate yellow blanket. I don't think I got a minute of sleep. As was often the case we'd travel with a marker pen and leave little messages for other hitchers that might get stuck or for mates who we knew might be travelling the same route. Here's what we deigned worth leaving at this spot.

We successfully made it to Brighton later that morning and here is Snapa taking a bracing stroll along brighton beach.

HItching back down south from the many gigs in Leeds always first involved taking a bus out to the busy Wetherby roundabout where you could hopefully get a lift from traffic jumping onto the M1. It was a popular hitching spot and also had a bit of folklore, I remember being warned about the 'Wetherby Willy watcher' (my memory might be betraying me on the exact nickname but it was definitely something like that), apparently a notorious wrong un'. I have no idea if I ever came in contact with this fabled fellow but I did get a couple of dubious rides from there. First time I really can't remember anything about the guy who picked me up just that there definitely seemed to be something 'off' about him. He just seemed a bit jumpy, asked me a bunch of odd questions, then suddenly took a strange turn off the Motorway and headed out into the country on a small b-road, I questioned where he was going and then he hurriedly said he had to make a pick up somewhere. He then abruptly stopped at this little junction in the middle of nowhere and told me to get out. He said he'd make the pick up and then come back this way, get me and we'd be back on our way. I was never particularly quick on the uptake so I remember actually standing there after he'd sped off for a while until the penny dropped....oh, he's not coming back. I'm guessing he'd decided he'd stopped for the wrong person for whatever he had in mind, or just lost his nerve, probably a lucky escape but I was still now stuck in the back end of beyond. There was no traffic at all so I figured all I could do was try to walk back to the motorway. After a couple of miles I could see it in the distance across from a few fields of farm land. Once I'd made it there obviously there was no actual stopping places on the motorway and it's illegal and dangerous to walk on the hard shoulder so I just had to struggle along through these fields parallel to the road until it came to a junction or service station or somewhere I could hitch from. By now it was already getting dark and I couldn't see where I was going. I then came across a rather large irrigation dyke across a field which I had to attempt to cross, I made a running jump and just about cleared it but then I lost my balance because of the rucksack and sleeping bag on my back, fell backwards and landed in the ditch getting soaked through. I remember just standing there in the dark, in a muddy field, hundreds of miles from home, wet and tired thinking "Fuck my life!!!" I finally came across a service station but it was derelict and no longer in service so no traffic was pulling in or stopping. I decided to give up for the night and tried to find somewhere sheltered to sleep. I found an old disused bus shelter and settled in only for a police car to pull up, they told me to get up and move along (where to?) saying there were a lot of rats around (?) and I couldn't sleep there. Of course they could have just given me a lift to the next roundabout but didn't. I just waited til they'd gone and went back and crashed. I can't remember how or where I finally got a lift but I do recall I finally got back to Norwich late in the evening the next day, at least a full day after everyone else I'd been with had got back.

Steve from the Disrupters trying his luck to get back south. We'd hitched up to Leeds together, not sure who to see, possibly Conflict.

Another time, also hitching from a gig in leeds. A  bunch of us were hitching down to Nottingham, where Leggo was living at the time and I'd started the hitch on my own first. Amazingly I got picked up pretty quickly and also the guy was driving directly to Nottingham, result!!! Getting to the destination in one lift was always a rare treat to savour. The dude who picked me up was an older businessman type, he was pretty jolly and very chatty although his conversation was a little strange. He kept asking me if I was a dancer, "Have I seen you before? Are you sure you're not a dancer?", I was thinking, I have no idea what sort of dancers you might have seen that look like me in my raggy clothes but whatever. Anyway, I was telling him that I was ahead of all my mates and I'd probably have to find a pub to kill some time in until the others arrived, he then said that he knew a good pub and he'd buy me some drinks if I didn't mind the company. I guess my brain didn't go much further than 'free beer!!!', so I was "sure, why not". However when we got to the outskirts of Nottingham, he said "actually, let me just drop past mine and we can have a quick drink there first"...errr, okay, he lived in this massive house with a long drive in a nice leafy middle class suburb of the city. I was still pretty clueless as he seemed friendly and above board but it was beginning to feel a little off. We went into his posh house and he said "let me get you a drink", he had one of those fancy big globes that open up and act as a drinks cabinet and he poured me a huge vodka, without getting himself anything, then after handing it to me he walked over and locked the door. What the fuck? I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was along the lines of "so....can you help me out??" as he pulled some notes out of his wallet. It was only then that the penny finally dropped!! yeah, after I was in his locked house!!!! It still makes me roll my eyes right into the back of my head to think back to how utterly slow on the uptake I was. I mean, what was it going to take, him standing with his trousers round his ankles before it clicked. I put the drink down and said "please unlock the fucking door", he looked shocked and thankfully walked over and opened it. I don't think anything else was said and I just made a hasty exit, I was a slight, skinny 19 year old and he was considerably larger than me and I was in his locked house where no one knew I was, it really could have gone so badly. To be honest I think he was so compliant in letting me out because he was probably a little dumbfounded and had assumed that surely I was aware of what was going on. I finally managed to find my way into the city and to Leggo's where everyone had arrived and relayed my tale to much mirth. I did temporarily think about going back in the evening and fucking up the guys car but even if I'd have been able to find my way back it was a stupid idea and in truth I was really just angry at myself for being so naive. You live and learn, it just takes a little longer for some.

I do still have a little diary from 1985 which has a good few little hitching notes in it, they're all pretty much the same though. I never seem to be recounting a positive experience. This sums up a typical entry. This was a hitch I did with Mark (D.I's second drummer, who played on the Terminal Filth demo). I think we'd gone up North to see the Subhumans. 

Thursday July 25th 1985
Well after yesterday's abysmal hitch you’d think a straight hitch from newark to Norwich would be a piece of piss, well we got a lift after 2 minutes to Sleaford roundabout, good so far and then stood there for 5 and a half fucking hours, then at about half eight in the evening we started walking and we walked and walked and walked. Cold, hungry and wet, really great fun! After about 3 small lifts we finally made it into kings Lynn at about 1 in the morning. We tried hitching it a while but as a thunder storm approached we hit it into Kings Lynn to shelter and freeze to death. God it was awful just sitting under a shop front in the early morning waiting for the sun to come up. We then started hitching again around about 5am and "yahoo!!" got a lorry all the way to Norwich, what a relief, plus he was playing Marillion all the way.

In case you're wondering, the fact he was playing Marillion was a good thing.

Sean during our unsuccessful trip up to Newcastle to see Anti-Cimex. We had such a crappy hitch we spent the night under a bridge, missed the gig and finally got to Newcastle the day after. Thankfully I'd already seen them ripping it up in Leeds supporting (and blowing away) Grave New world era Discharge.

I think we all pretty much decided we were sick of hitching at the same time, lifts seemed to be getting consistently worse, people seemed to be stopping less often. Thankfully D.I was playing out around the country a lot more now so that took care of most of the travelling to see bands itch. Also for a while we figured out a pretty good coach ticket scam where we could get tickets on National Express for next to nothing. Obviously this was all way before any sort of computerised, printed ticket. To book a coach journey you had to go up to the third floor in Jarrolds (Norwich departement store), where the guy selling coach tickets (who kind of looked like Sam the eagle from the Muppets) had a little desk in the corner by the purses and handbags. Tickets were those big ones that were printed on a handheld carbon duplicating gizmo that he had to push this lever back and forth to print the ticket. We'd usually get Snapa (as he was the smallest) to go and buy one child's ticket (if he could get away with it), then we'd be able to alter it by adding several adults on the ticket in pencil, which kind of looked similar to the carbon, you just had to sort of rub it and smudge it a bit and then crinkle the ticket up a bit and hope they'd not look too closely. This way we'd often forge a ticket for 5 or 6 of us for the cost of a single child. I don't think we did it very often as we didn't want to push our luck, the drivers would look at the messy scrap of paper with some suspicion and sometimes ask "so, who's the child" but I don't recall ever getting actually refused.

I wish the road signs were in shot so I figure out where these were. it's probably somewhere along the A17, i think this was the day that we were having such a shit time we invented the 'hitching dance', this was one of those rare journeys where getting stuck didn't really matter. I think we were coming back from a gig, it was warm and the weather was good and we had company so it was just a laugh. We were getting absolutely nowhere so were taking it in turns to do ridiculous dances as the cars came past figuring out if we were already weren't getting anyone to stop, looking demented couldn't hurt. it certainly kept our spirits up anyway. 

Looking back it's amazing to think how far out of my comfort zone I'd put myself. Prior to leaving home and moving into the city at age 17 I'd been living in a small village and had grown up as an incredibly anxious and painfully shy kid. In 1984 I'd very quickly thrown myself into new situations, living in a squat and suddenly befriending and dealing with a whole city scene, of course, in the punk scene my shyness and general social awkwardness was easily hidden and helped with copious amounts of alcohol. Not really an option when you're out hitching. I just threw myself into it as I wanted to be part of the crew and get out around the country but if my shyness wasn't quite as bad as it had been I was still a very quiet person. I still am, small talk isn't my thing, I'm more than happy with a comfortable silence. This probably made me a terrible hitcher to pick up, a lot of drivers, especially the truckers often picked you up as they just wanted some company. They'd often been driving all over the continent on gruelling haulage routes and just wanted some conversation or someone to help keep them awake and there'd be me, after a few awkward introductions I'd just fold in on myself and settle into a silence, to which they'd no doubt sigh and just have to turn the radio up. That was another reason it was also preferable for me to hitch with a  companion as I could leave them to do the chatting while I just settled in and watched the world go by.

Me and Amelia taking a break while stuck on a typically bad hich trying to get back from london

Another little Diary entry, travelling back from a couple of days in London with Amelia.

Friday May 31st 1985

So we started hitching, yet another bad hitch, because of the problems on the M11 or A11 or whatever we had to go via the Cambridge road where we got stuck for ages plus we kept bumping into this twat who was hitching to Norwich n'all. He obviously thought he was king of the hitchers. Then we got stuck in Newmarket, a real bummer, we ended up walking about 6 miles. Sat in a flower field and was happy, if I wasn't with Amelia I'd have been really pissed off. We saw all these signs with DD and Snapa written on them so we obviously weren't the first to get stuck there.

I'm sure tales like this were the same and each and every one of us back then getting around the country by our thumbs, in fact I'm sure I probably got off quite lightly and everyone would have at least one situation worse than anything here. (Please feel free to share them in the comments.) Though I think some are just more suited to it and would go with the flow, I mean I never hitched abroad or around Europe as many did, i can only imagine what throwing foreign roadways and languages into the mix would mean!!

Okay, so then who's taking the first hitch? See you there....

...hopefully.