People may mock Eastbourne but there is life beyond the genteel veneer. Take, for example, this Friday's concert being held at the Bandstand featuring a Rolling Stones tribute band.
As I was walking along the promenade this morning, I saw the band getting out of their Morris Traveller and, as they walked down to the bandstand to savour Friday's atmosphere, I fell into conversation with their roadie and paramedic Bazza "Funbags" Thrip. His story is retold verbatim:
"It's not our first gig at Eastbourne, you know, we always like to return to our roots. Our vocalist, Dick Sagger, used to go to school here so it's a home from home for him and Phil Hymen, the bass player, had an aunt that he stayed with once ............ or was that Bournemouth? Anyway, it's a great town and we always know that they'll be some action after the gig. Obviously, security is important for us so we always choose a well-guarded place to stay. Mon Repos guest house has quite a large hedge and their Pomeranian "Satan's Bitch" has a really nasty yap. *he laughs* I remember the reporter from the Eastbourne Gazette trying to sneak a picture of the boys trying on their new beige cardies ....... boy, I bet his ankle has still got the scars of those teethmarks!
I remember once, we'd finished the gig and I'd got the band back to their rooms. The front garden was full of fans and there was a nasty accident when 2 mobility scooters were trying to out-drag each other and collided with an old folk singer passing by. He's a mate of ours and was immediately rushed to hospital. Get well soon, Robert Zimmer-man.
Charlie Grots, the drummer, was busy drying himself after a fan, having already thrown her foundation garments, followed up with a Tena Lady and Dick was nursing a cut eye from an exuberantly lobbed Werthers.. The guys had asked me to bring back a few chicks for a party but, as the lift was broken and we were second floor, they'd take a while to get to us. Meanwhile, Ryan Scones, our mad guitarist, was laying out a couple of lines and there was heated discussion about whether the malted was better than the original granules.
Dick had just put on his slippers when there was a knock at the door and the sound of (rather asthmatic) giggling. As I opened the door, I saw a group of silver-haired ladies all wearing tabards with the slogan "W.I. Sucks!" embroidered on them. "Hi," they chorused, "we're the W.I.!!!" ............................... Some hours later, I looked at the sleeping bodies scattered round the room. In the gloom, I could see a smiling set of teeth and idly wondered whose they were?
Forget Vegas or the O2, it's Eastbourne for us every time ........... and they have a really good Primark as well!"
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