The Big Midweek: Life Inside The Fall by Steve Hanley & Olivia Piekarski

Author:Steve Hanley & Olivia Piekarski [Hanley, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Music & Songs
Publisher: Route
Published: 2014-09-14T23:00:00+00:00

In the morning the phone rings and it’s Paul.

‘That’s it. I’ve left,’ he tells me.

What the fuck? ‘You and all? What happened?’

‘After you went that cheeky bastard comes over to me and says, “Is there something wrong with your kid?” all innocent like perhaps you’ve got toothache or something. “I think he’s got the same problem I have!” I told him. I’ve had enough. I’ve got other options. “Look, Mark, I’ve really enjoyed this year,” I said. “The band’s better than ever. We’ve all been writing songs, we’ve all been getting on. So how come you suddenly start acting like an arsehole?”’ He pauses for breath.

‘What did he say to that?’

‘“That’s the problem!” he says. “I give you lot a bit of free rein and look what happens! All the gear gets nicked.” And then we get his “Do you know what I had to go through to get the money out of Beggars” routine. Again.’

‘I hate to say it but he has got a point about that.’

‘Maybe. But do we need reminding at every opportunity?’

I feel bad enough about it myself. Yes, we should have got the gear out of the van. You take your guitar to your hotel room. You sleep with it if you have to. This should be the number one Commandment. Look after your gear. And the one time we don’t, it all goes. Paul’s new kit. Marc Riley’s Fender. Brix’s priceless irreplaceable historic guitar that Joan Jett herself presented her with. All in some council shed in Cardiff, all about to be sold off for a bag of Bostick and a gram of shite smack. What’s the point of carrying on?

‘Then he says, “It’s going to have to go back to how it was.” And I’m like, “What do you mean?” and he goes, “Me in charge and you lot doing what you’re told.”’

‘Fucking hell, Paul.’ I slump against the hallway wall, sounds of crying baby battling their way through the thin plaster. ‘What now?’

‘That’s it for me.’ He says in a decisive tone. ‘Some of The Creepers have been asking me to drum in a new band. They asked me before this tour and that bastard persuaded me to stay till the end of it before I made any decisions. Well, this has just made up my mind.’

I’m well out of the loop here! The current Creepers are Paul’s old schoolmates. I had no idea Paul was thinking of forming a band with them.

‘It might work, I suppose,’ I tell Paul before hanging up. He’s got the time to give it a try and he’s only got himself to think about.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s it for me. I’m packing in music altogether.

‘You’ll have to look for a job,’ says Heather, half-glad I’ll be around more, half-worried about how we’ll survive. She’s got a point. There are only so many pies you can sell in Wythenshawe, and what with Andrew our youngest brother now firmly on the rota, none of us are going to get rich selling Warburtons’ whites at two pence a loaf profit.

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