One time in Italy. Gary Husband and myself flew to Milan Airport where we met Mark and Mike who had been giving interviews in Scandinavia. As we checked in to our connecting flight to Florence it became apparent that Al Italia had over booked the flight and two of us would be unable to fly. There was no further flights to Florence that day and our mimed performance was to be filmed 'Live' later that evening. So I volunteered to travel with tour manager  Roger Searl by train. Getting to the train station in it self was a drama. The 'Taxi' voucher given to us by the airline was received with great derision by the taxi driving fraternity as they scowled and swore in Italian and tried to get the next driver in the rank to take us to the huge Mussolini built facade of the Milan train station. About seven hours later we arrived tired and stressed in rain sodden Florence. Indeed large parts o the city were under flood water. The TV show was being broadcast live from  an old Roman amphitheatre up on a hill just outside town. The rain was teeming down as thunder clapped loudly overhead. Surly we wouldn't be expected to stand in this infront of a small depleted and wet crowd? We were. The lighting gantry's were hissing with steam as the rain hit them. We had been told, however, that it was perfectly safe. Unfortunately one of the technicians, with a worried look on his face and a good command of English, told me that two of his colleagues had already been sent to Hospital when they'd been electrocuted earlier on that day.  And so, as the interviewer chatted to Mark in an over cheery style and broken English,  the rain poured over us. He introduced 'Guaranteed' and off we went, rather half heartedly it has to be said. Mark was keeping time with his right foot sending an explosion of water spraying toward me as he rhythmically dislodged the puddle he was standing in. Miming in front of half a dozen people in a spotlit Roman amphitheatre half way up a hill outside Florence in the pissing rain, whilst a storm raged at about 10:30 in the evening. You will, I hope, forgive me for thinking 'What the fuck are we doing this for?' We bundled ourselves, soaking wet and tired, in to a small mini bus. We were then driven through winding windswept roads to a picturesque hotel within spitting distance of the leaning tower of Pisa dying for a shower and something to eat. The kitchen was closed and the Hotel had no running water either hot or cold. Ah the glamour of it all.

A week or so later we found ourselves back in Italy in a large open venue in Riminni. It was a beautiful hot and sunny morning as we dragged our sorry carcasses out of the cars provided by the record company. This was a big variety show with games, guests and audience spread over a large area of what looked like the village in 60's cult T.V show 'The Prisoner'. I can't for the life of me remember what we'd been doing or  where we'd been the night before, but I do remember that we were absolutely knackered. We looked it too as was evident from our rock star sun glasses, sluggish movements and constant yawning. The hyped up directors and producers were obviously rather alarmed at our static, disinterested and sluggish performance during the camera rehearsal. So much so that after a lot of volatile shouting and hand waving we found ourselves, 9 hours later, on a completely different stage in a completely different part of the park. The new stage had large glass tiles in the floor through which brightly coloured flashing lights were shone. Just in case this wasn't sufficient to liven up the miming corpses they had watched in horror earlier that day, they had positioned several young, scantily clad, dancers to spice up proceedings. They hadn't told us of course, so  I was in a state of shock as a heavily made up, high heeled temptress, with a natty line moody facial expressions started gyrating madly like a nymphomaniac with epilepsy, within inches of my Steinberger. Someone sent me a video of this sometime later and I do look shell shocked and extremely embarrassed. I wonder how many sales that night accounted for. Still stranger experiences were still to come.

Indeed a surreal moment happened a month or so later. As part of the world wide 'save the children' campaign we were to perform at the Hague in Holland on a bill that consisted of Randy Crawford, Natalie Cole (still unable to shake off that heavy cold!!) and more bizarrely, Audrey Hepburn and Roger Moore. The band were introduced by Ben Vereen  (Chicken George in Roots)  but a month before he was nearly killed after being hit, a great speed, on Pacific Coast Highway by a car driven by top L.A record producer David Foster. I digress. At the end finale we, and the cast of hundreds, stood swaying form side to side singing a naff paean to the children, hope and World peace. Mark was to my right and in front of us Audrey Hepburn and Roger Moore. Mark pointed to the rectal area of the great man in front of us . You couldn't help but notice that the former Mr Bond appeared to have no arse. Visible to us was just a lot of flapping suit material around the small cave where his bum should be. At that moment Mark said out of the corner of his mouth 'I bet in your wildest dreams you could never imagine a moment like this' How right he was.

At the other end of the spectrum we were booked to do a TV show in Paris. Once again Mark & Mike had been out there doing interviews and travel party B, Gary Husband & myself, had to fly out there separately and meet the guy's at the Studio for the show. Gary's cab arrived late, a booking screw up by the record company as I recall. This meant that we both missed our flight out of Heathrow and we had to wait for the next available one to the French Capital. So as we arrived through French customs into the arrivals hall an hour or so later, we were whisked off at great speed through the streets and carriage ways to the TV studio. The cars screamed to a halt and we were ushered in to see Mark and Mike up on a large podium, instruments in hand, running through the song for the umpteenth time with two stage hands in place of Gary and my self. We had no time to change and leapt up to our places immediately and mimed to 'Guaranteed' once and were then put straight back into the car that brought us and taken straight back to the airport. We checked in and boarded the plane.

I had left my house at midday, had flown to Paris to do a TV show and was back in my living room drinking tea and watching the football results by 4:45. I'd been in Paris for about half an hour.

 To be Continued

Various other shows around Europe followed including a stint in Denmark. We played a number of outdoor shows and by June 8^th we got to Copenhagen. It was my birthday but I hadn't mentioned it, hell why should I. I hardly knew anyone after all. As we sat in our prefabricated dressing room at the back of  the large temporary scaffold stage, Mark did an interview with a national radio station. This in turn was being broadcast live to the crowd outside through the vast PA system. Amongst the many obvious questions Mark spoke about the new album and new band line up. When he mentioned me he said it was my birthday and suggested that everyone l sing the traditional song to mark this occasion. I sat there listening to thousands of people outside singing happy birthday to me in a strong Danish accent whilst the band and crew grinned and sang with excessive volume in my face. One of many more surreal experiences to come.

 We played some shows in Portugal with Midge Ure in support and I started to get to know the others better. We arrived in a coastal town, the name of which escapes me now,  gearing up for an regional summer festival. God knows what it was for, but as we walked amongst the crowded streets at 2 0'clock in the morning vast numbers of complete stranger's whacked each other on the head with plastic onions on stick's. Gary Barnacle, (who had played sax on most of the Level's recordings but had never toured with them before) was and is, one of the funniest people I've ever met. His rapier like wit could be savage and quick as I have learnt to my cost. The vast majority of examples of this are, however, either politically sensitive or incorrect . Indeed the large amount of anecdotes I would love to tell are at best indiscreet and at worst potentially libellous. So you'll have to wait for the memoirs or a degree of senility were I wont care who gets offended. Suffice to say Barny's extraordinary abilities to charm members of the opposite sex are not unconnected with a lot of them. Indeed whilst staying at a 5 star hotel on the Algarve during an BMG conference at the end of our Portuguese jaunt we, Gary, Midge's drummer Mark Brezicki and myself, found our selves at a local night spot. Mark and my self watched in amazement as Gary happily sauntered up to, then went off with, the most stunning blonde girl. Mark and myself discussed how impossible that kind of thing seemed to our selves. I said to him 'I bet your the kind of bloke who nervously hangs around all evening and at the last moment give the girl you've had your eye on a piece of paper with your phone number on it don't you?'

He looked a little taken aback ' Eh… how do you know that?'

'Because my girl friend came home with your number a month ago'

This was indeed true. She'd been out with some pal's in London and had come home asking if I knew a drummer called Mark Brezicki.

I hadn't met Mark before this trip so to say he was a touch embarrassed was something of an understatement. I made the big mistake of relating this incident the following day to Mark King. He made reference to this relentlessly for the remainder of the tour. I was indeed to learn that what you said to Mark could soon be regretted as he would often mention something that you said or did later that night on stage. Being made to do some impersonations of cast members from Coronation Street in the middle of a sold out show at Portsmouth springs to mind. Back on the summer gigging  trail a few weeks later we arrived at Zurich airport for a very big three day festival. We were on the bill with Simple minds, but the following day 'Foreigner' were about to make their first appearance following the departure of their long time lead singer Lou Gram. The promoters had lined up a tour bus to take us and Foreigner to the Hotel. They got on first and as we walked on Gary started singing 'I wanna know where Lou is'.

It was after this that that the serious promotion started. Video shoots, photo sessions and of course the endless pan European T.V appearances. Apart from some appearances on Top Of The Pops and similar, with Dave Stewart  in the early 80's, this was a fairly new experience and I began to get familiar with the TV miming process. Unless you've actually done this you have no idea how mind numbingly boring it is to fly around the world and wait for hours in shitty little dressing room's, all for the privilege of miming to your current hit. It's a pretty stupid thing to do at the best of time's. Have you ever stood in front of the mirror with a tennis racket in hand miming to your favourite record? Can you recall the embarrassment and horror of your mum walking in whilst in the middle of this display? This image continually haunted me as I did this for real in front of millions. Without the intimate knowledge of that particular countries broadcast culture you also have little idea whether you are on the equivalent of the top rated Saturday night show or some crappy music show shown at 4 in the morning on the equivalent of  that country's channel 5.Whilst most of these TV shows blur into to one long series dressing room boredom a couple of occasions do spring to mind.