I sometimes wonder what our promoters make of us. They're usually there to welcome us and sometimes they stay for the get-in and out, and it's then that we slip into a sort of theatre slang generally centred around the shortcomings of our set. Manfrotto stands become Man Fridays and then morph into Frangipanis, we'll audibly hunt around for the Stage Right Flappy Thing, The Piece of Wood That Does F*ck All and The Pointless Support Under The Upstage Step. Interrupt us during the laying of the floor and you'll wonder why we rub the edges vigorously with candles; come in when the windows are going up and the Fatties and Thinnies conversation may puzzle you. You'll need a clue to discover why the ladder's called Zach (he's an a-frame) and why the door lintel is called Fellini (he's number eight and a half). That's not even mentioning multicore, socapex, DMX, phono cables, DIN and spiders (all Colin's domain and therefore not to be tackled lightly. Or at all if you can avoid it).
Later on you get the whole thing in reverse, with Colin bellowing for Fascism, T-bars and Soft Things To Stuff In The Shelving Unit. It's worth the entry price without seeing the show, I can tell you...
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