Can't Stand Up for Sitting Down Read Online Free PDF

gradually
chewed up in the most painful and visible sort of way.
    Many
comics have included either an Elvis fat joke or a dying-on-the-toilet joke in
their set but I always felt pity for him — the evidence of his decline was
there for all to see as he gained weight through what I presume was
comfort-eating born out of his isolation. Elvis fans, if I’ve got this wrong,
please let me know.
    That’s
the problem with excess eating… IT SHOWS. So although alcoholics and heroin
addicts can maintain their svelte figures, big eaters can’t, and piss-taking
will inevitably occur. Ditto Michael Jackson with his unearthly metamorphosis
from beautiful boy into alienated alien. I’m sure the added pressures of being
global stars just compounded their emotional confusion.
    God
forbid I should ever have to tour with one of what I tend to think of as ‘The
Ambitious Boys’. There are plenty of these around. Clever, career-minded, pushy
little buggers whose only thought is for their own advancement. Bloody good
luck to ‘em but they’re not my cup of tea to spend time with, because you feel
you are in a constant battle for airtime with them.
     
    Tour Managers
    As well as a so-called
‘support act’, one always has a tour manager. He or she drives, liaises with
the theatre staff, fights off the adoring fans (yes, that’s never happened),
marshals any press people and generally is available for weird showbiz requests
should you have a sudden urge for pheasant testicles in batter at 2 a.m. on a
wet Tuesday in Norwich. I hope I am not a whim-laden sort of performer, by the
way and have always done my best to keep to a minimum these sorts of mad
demands. I think the most I’ve ever managed is some fags or a packet of
Haribos. Over the years my tour managers have been Mark, John, Jez and Grazio,
thankfully none of them behaving hideously badly (Apart from on a few occasions.)
    Being a
tour manager involves a lot of different skills and at times it’s very boring.
First of all there’s a huge amount of driving involved. You’re the first one to
start in the morning and the last one to get home to bed once you’ve dropped
everyone off.
    Mark
was tour manager, if I remember rightly for one and a half tours. He was dead
easygoing, which is essential, didn’t force his musical tastes on us and did
his job efficiently and with good grace. One major worry was that on the second
leg of touring he had rather a lot of points on his licence for speeding, and
if he picked up another three that would have pushed him over and made him
ineligible to drive, so there were a few sharp intakes of breath on various
journeys but thankfully we never crossed the point of no return.
    John
had worked in security before he began tour managing for me and was quite big
and scary-looking; this is a bonus, because it puts some people off approaching
you even before any trouble has started. Apparently, he looks like David Platt,
the footballer, because someone once came up to us when we were in the street
to ask for an autograph and I found myself just assuming (Bighead Brand) that
this guy was approaching me. As I stuck my hand out to take the pen, he said,
‘No, I want David Platt’s,’ making me feel very small and vain and giving us a
good laugh at the same time.
    John
never felt the need to punch anyone, for which I’m eternally grateful. He just
stood there and glowered at them, and nine times out of ten that was all it
took.
    Jez was
a mate of mine, who took over on a tour when John couldn’t do it any more — and
God bless him, he had only just passed his driving test, so was somewhat wobbly
on the finer details. We had a couple of hair-raising moments on roundabouts,
but on the whole managed pretty well. It was slightly difficult at times because
we were mates and I don’t like asking anyone to do anything, particularly a
friend, but we muddled through and sorted stuff out. However, Jez was great to work
with because I knew him so well. He