In 2004, B-Movie did their first Reunion Gig, a sell out show at the Metro in London, supported by a band called My Life Story (they’re really good and are mates of Paul from the band I think.). I was so pi**ed that I couldn’t go, but I was about 8 months pregnant with Miss M at the time and it would have been crazy.

The next gig was always going to happen soon, but due to various situations, i.e. a new baby, work commitments, the loss of Mr B’s dad etc, it didn’t happen, until now…

Are you ready??

Right.

Misses E and M are bathed and waiting for Granny.

When Miss M hears I am going out with Ingenious Rose she gets very concerned that Ingenious Junior, aged 4, will be left on her own.

Miss M: “But IJ will want her mummy…”

Granny: “It’s ok M. Her babysitter will be there.”

Miss M: “But IJ hasn’t got a baby sister Gwanny??”

After further explanation, Miss M seems satisfied that IJ will not be abandoned and in charge of a previously unseen younger sibling, and I leave the house after big kisses and ‘huggles’ from my two monkeys.

I’m driving, as my mate Nic has had to cancel as she and her little boy C are both really poorly, so I beg convince Ingenious Rose to come with me as all my other mates are scattered across the world.

Lu and Pod are in Cologne (you’d think they’d have cancelled that trip for me wouldn’t you?? Tsk.)

Dez and Jay are in a caravan in Lincoln somewhere, Nat and Andrea are in Brum, my sister is in Brighton, my sister-in-law is on a hen weekend in Blackpool, and my other brother and sister-in-law and mates can’t get babysitters.

But, Ingenious Rose is up or it, (hooray) and Mr B puts us on the guest list. (Hooray hooray.)

My friend (?) posh sat nav’ lady, has agreed to guide us to Fletchergate car park which is just near the venue.

(Yes I’m going to give her a second chance, even after last time…)

But she does fine, and we soon find, and then pass Fletchergate car park which is FULL.

Bugger.

I switch her off and head for the next nearest car park which is Broadmarsh.

Now…

My directional prowess is somewhat, erm, crap, so I have come well prepared. I not only found the best car park (as it seems did everybody else), but I also printed off a street map from a certain street map website, that should take us easily from the car park to the venue…

I do know Nottingham you see, but to be honest, I usually navigate it when drunk, on foot, and from a completely different direction.

Ingenious grabs the map and we start to work out where we are.

Beside us, as we leave the car park, is this…

A huge sign, on the side of a huge building.

Ingenious is studying the map…

Me: “Can you see Broadmarsh anywhere?”

She looks up and spins around.

“It’s there Jo.”

I look at her.

“On the map I mean…”

Oh it doesn’t bode well.

We spot a street sign, and Ingenious turns us around and says,

“This way.”

We walk to the train station. We walk a little further, and suddenly the map runs out of street names, and the names we do have do not correspond with the ones on the signs. We’re heading further and further away from the centre.

When we pass a ‘Cobstop’ we decide this is definitely not Hockley, which wikipedia describes as “home to design, fashion, New Age and record shops, and galleries, bars and cafés. It also boasts two arthouse cinemas.”

I love Hockley.

They do not, would not, could not have anything called ‘The Cob Stop’ in Hockley.

When we see the sign for the M1 we decide it might be best to erm, stop.

So I start asking strange men for directions while Ingenious Rose berates the crappy map for being so crappy.

When we are pointed in the opposite direction from whence we came, my crazy, misguided learn-ed friend finally admits that she had the map upside down, and we head back to Broadmarsh.

As we finally enter Hockley things are looking a little more familiar but we still have no idea where to go.
As my inbuilt venue detector can not be activated due to lack of alcohol, I again begin approaching strange men. (I would have approached strange women, or even normal looking women too, but we didn’t see any, I promise.)

Suddenly we round a corner and there it is…

We walk in and are quickly crossed off the guest list.

I always feel relieved when that happens as it would be so embarrassing if I couldn’t get in…

Me: “I’m on the guest list. Jo Beaufoix plus one.”

Door person: “Nobody of that name here love.”

Me: “But, I’m the drummers wife”

Door person: “Yeah, yeah, and so’s everybody else in this queue.”

or

Door Person: “I don’t think so love. She’s already gone in.”

We climb up the stairs to see an already crowded room and Mr B looking handsome and lovely at the bar.
He buys us a drink. We watch the support for a bit, then he goes to get his sticks etc.

It’s so funny hearing people talking about your other half’s band when you’re standing near by. They keep saying stuff like, “I bet they look older now, or, do you think they’ve rehearsed much?” And I want to turn round and say,

“Well of course they look bloody older. They’re not blumming Time Lords you know, and they’ve definitely been rehearsing as I’ve had many a Sunday with two kids and no car while they’ve honed their performance.”

But I say nothing. I just listen.

When they come on, the crowd roars and I can’t get rid of this big daft grin.

The whole show is fantastic. The audience however, are almost equally entertaining. (Sorry Mr B my sweet.)

Firstly there is the ‘heckler’ who seems unable to contain his emotions or his language.

He begins with, “I love you, you c**ts. ” (What a charmer.)

Continues with, “Play it, you bast**ds.” (Lovely)

And ends with, “Get your c**k out.” (???)

He is standing behind us for much of the night, and by the end, Rose and I have decided he is either a sufferer of tourettes, or, a drunken arsehole.
(Later we found out it is definitely the second.)

The next bit of audience entertainment comes from a couple who were obviously very cool, in the 80s, and still think they are much much cooler than anyone else in the room. Hell they might be right, but, well, I don’t think so.

They began by doing impressions of some of the crowd who are stood staring in adoration right in front of the stage with slightly gormless expressions.

But then, when the band began Remembrance Day they rushto the centre of the crowd, front of stage and burst into a performance of their own. The woman gyrates and sways and waves her arms around like a Manakin bird trying to attract a mate, and the man pulls his bobble from his hair and begins to shake his thang with wild abandon.

This all comes to a head during Nowhere Girl when I actually filmed a little of them as well as the band…
Go on, click the link, have a look. He’s harder to spot as he’s a bit further back in the darkness, but you can’t miss the purple princess at the front. This clip is a bit distorted as the floor was actually shaking from the crowd jumping up and down, but it’s still cool.

Ingenious and I decide we have now learned the correct way to show your appreciation at a gig, and plan to wear bobbles and big shoulder pads at all future gigs and whip them out when we get excited. (The bobbles, not anything else. Ahem.)

Then we have the raver. I will call him Bob. Bob used to go out with the sister of a friend of mine when I was younger. I will never forget the unfortunate tale of him getting something unmentionable in her eye when they were, erm, busy, and her having to go to casualty. He was a bit older than us and always seemed drunk and erm, a little wide eyed and friendly in the 90s, and, well, he hasn’t changed much to be honest. Think of a hairless Bez from Happy Mondays and you’ll get the idea.

In fact, I think he might believe he actually is Bez by the way he was dancing. I’m sure he’s was thinking, ‘blimey, Sean Ryder suddenly got a lot more attractive!’
At the end of the night, after an amazing set, a sweat soaked and smiling Mr B came off stage and gave me a big kiss. People were coming up and congratulating them all and the atmosphere was great. Mr B even kept smiling after a barmaid accidentally spilled a pint of beer over him, (rock n roll), in fact, he smiled so much he had face ache.

Me: “Is it like after our wedding?”
Mr B: “God yeah. I can’t stop smiling but my face is killing me.”

At about 12.40ish Ingenious and I said our goodbyes and headed off towards the car.
On the way, in a surreal moment, we bumped into a long haired American rocker who was being guided through Notts by 4 people wearing back stage passes. He was one of Alice Coopers band and they asked us for directions to Trinity Square. Alice Cooper was playing at the Ice Arena nearby with Motorhead and Joan Jett.

We got back to the Broadmarsh car park quickly with Ingenious being much better at directions after a few cokes. It was a huge relief to find it so easily, but that soon changed when we realized…

It was shut.

Oh my God.
Me: “But I thought it was open till 2am?”

Ingenious: “Oh that’s on weeknights. It shuts at 12pm on a Sunday.”

We looked at each otheras the penny dropped. It was a very big penny. IT WAS SUNDAY…

We looked around the almost deserted bus station that was attached to the car park and I noticed an office with a light on so we knocked on the door.

It was opened by a huge man in uniform.

Ingenious: “Hi, I wonder if you can help us. We’ve just come back to get our car and it’s locked.”

Me: “Yeah, we thought it closed at 2am. ”

He looks us up and down.

Car Park Official: “That’s Monday to Saturday.”

Ingenious: “Well what should we do? We need to get home.”

He again looks us over.

Car Park Official: “Well, I suppose if you buy me a drink I’ll open up for you…”

So that is how Ingenious and I came to be following a large, middle aged man, into a dark, and deserted and locked multi-story car park, in the middle of the night.

“Watch out for the pillars.” he shouted, as Ingenious handed him a few quid and we ran up the ramps in darkness.

By the time we reached my car we couldn’t stop giggling. We jumped in and I headed for the exit, where our friend was waiting to open up the huge garage doors so we could make our escape.

The next morning, after avoiding a swarm of traffic wardens, ignoring the sat’ nav’ attempts to take me through buildings, up one way streets and into an extremely narrow alley way, and finally having to get directions from one of the wardens (who was very nice??) I parked outside the venue so that Mr B, (who’d stayed in a hotel with the band the night before), could load up his drum kit.

That’s our car. It’s amazing how clean silver cars can look when they’re not.

Mr B was tired but buzzing, and after sharing out the earnings, the band said their goodbyes and went there separate ways.

I think there will be more gigs soon though.

I hope so.