Episode 6 - Barrowland or Bust.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Episode 6 - Barrowland or Bust.

Opens in George's flat, George and a girl are beneath the covers, giggling maniacally. There is a pile of rubble near the foot of the bed.

Narrator - Following Meltin' John and the Polydor Records debacle, we made a conscious decision to be a tad more picky in our selection process. Stevie joined as a second guitarist after touring the Borders on a Variety bill that included the Drifters and the Krankies.

Cut to Ben E King in a robe serenading Jimmy Krankie while members of the crew, Stevie included, sit around the hotel room, filming each other in various stages of undress.

Narrator - Stevie still maintains that this is in the top three freakiest shows he's ever been involved in.
Jim finally finished school...sorry college and joined us as our full time little drummer boy.

Cut to Jim being sent off by his parents

Mum (flattening Jim's hair) - Now, have you got your spare pants?
Jim - Yes mum...(spiking it back up again)
Dad - Stop fussing over him woman!  Just call us when you arrive, son.. . And take this (thrusts £20 note into Jim's hand)
Jim - Cheers Dad.
Mum (getting teary) - You will write?
Jim - Jesus wept Mum, I'm only going to Falkirk.

Narrator - By accident or design, things were starting to fall into place again. But while we were becoming more discerning in our professional lives, the same could not be said for our personal ones.

Cut to Bill in the woods with June. Much to his annoyance, her dog is licking his bare ass as he tries to push it away.

Cut to Gordon being fellated while watching horse racing on TV, The girl, Jackie, thinks that Gordon is excited because of her, not because of his horse winning. Gordon picks up a slice of freshly buttered bread from a plate beside the couch.

Gordon (eating) - Oh...yes!

Narrator -  And this, under my duvet, is Jill, the third member of the legendary triptych known as the Great Western Girls. Working out of a very fashionable apartment at the Botanic Gardens end of the Great Western Road, these lovely sirens occasionally threw us hungry dogs a bone, free of charge, just to keep match fit. In the future, one of the girls opened a health food store, another married a footballer from a Glasgow club that plays in blue and the third girl found God and moved to the Hebrides but at this point, all of that seemed a long way off.  Jill was athletic, pretty and loved to play with a large latex dildo she named Alberto after a laconic friend of ours from Sao Paulo. Unlike our Brazilian buddy, this thing was quite intimidating and the ever adventurous Jill was determined to find a temporary home for it, right in the depths of my disused subway. She also gave me a sneaky chemistry lesson...

Cut to Jill lying back, George is under the covers with his legs sticking out of the end of the bed.

Jill - Go on...get back down there...I really want you to do it.
George - Not a fucking chance. It's too ...weird.
Jill - It's perfectly natural.  I've kissed yours, so...you kiss mine.
George - I don't want to be stirring porridge with my tongue.
Jill - Look, what if I added something to the deal? A little sweetener.
George - I'm listening..
Jill (taking a small packet out of her handbag, she licks her finger) - Right, I'm going to put something down there and you've got to lick it up.
George - What is it? It's not Alberto, is it?
Jill - Don't be silly.
George - Is this sherbet?
Jill - Eh...something like that.
George (licking) - I think it's gone off...
Pause...
Narrator (deep) - Welcome to the pharmaceutical age.
George - Woah!
Narrator - Here we fucking go! I was in there, slobbering like a drunk wrestling a poorly constructed kebab. It would take hours before I could stop talking like a stroke victim and days before the racing heartbeat dropped back to normal. Ordinarily, this would cost some hapless chump an arm and a leg but here I was, getting free quantum theory lessons from Einstein. If Einstein was a hooker with a flexible friend called Alberto. But this aside, I had other matters I could ignore no longer.

Flashback two hours...

George and Jill in bed. They hear a creak and suddenly, part of the roof caves in, landing near the bed with a heavy thud.

Narrator - That was close.

George turns to shocked Jill...
George - How was that for you?

Narrator - The need for alternative accommodation had been playing on my mind for a few weeks now...

Cut to one of George's flatmates, a middle aged man with and Elvis style quiff chasing him around the house, drunk with a pair of scissors and a lighter.


Man - Come here ya little bastard!  I've had enough of your fucking nonsense and constant noise. I'm gonna burn your hair and stab your bollocks!
George (Running around the couch then into the communal kitchen) - Arrggghhhhhh!
Man - Got you now...
Sound of frying pan hitting back of man's head, cartoon noise.
Man hits ground and standing behind him is...
Narrator - Wee Alex!
Alex - Nobody hurts my Georgie.
Narrator - Ah, I forgot to tell you.  One of the 6 inhabitants of the flat was none other than the tax office sweetie man, Alex. And he never stopped trying to get me to sample his special edition, purple Mars Bar. Listen, I have nothing against those who want to experiment with manly love but I have a rule and it's not up for debate. George's Anal rule number 1. Nothing thicker than a neatly manicured female pinky will pass into the stinky batcave during the throes of passion.
George - Thanks Alex.  How can I ever repay you?
Alex - How about letting me give you a Star Wars?
George - A Star Wars?
Alex - Yes, a Han(d) Solo.
Pauses.
Alex - I'll give you £20...
George - Forget it wee man.
Pause
George - But for a tenner, I'll watch you wank yourself off..

Narrator - So much for the age of innocence, eh? But I can assure you, no rules were broken during the making of this scene.

Quick cut to Nico's. Drinks have been ordered. Donny and Brian count their coins on the bar.
George presents a fresh £10 note.
George - I'll get these.
Donny - Nice. You come into money?
George - Something like that. Still looking for a flatmate, Skull man?

Cut to Donny and George visiting a number of flats of varying quality.

Narrator - So Donny and I started looking for a new place. But money was tight. I've quit my job and there's only so many times a straight guy can watch a gay guy knock one out. Mondo's Hipsway brain freeze and the Polydor gig put paid to us supporting Big Country at the Barrowland. Word gets around in a small town like Glasgow. They gave the gig to a bunch of fucking fake soul bed wetters called Softly, Softly. Even my old band the Molotovs were playing more than us. One thing that I'd learned was that the music business, at the level we were operating at, was just a big game of snakes and ladders. People like Myra Blackman from the NME were still flying the flag but the only potentially important gig that was on the cards was the All Nighter at the University supporting of all people, a twee pop group and a chart topping goth band with a giant singer! But if we want to keep climbing the rungs, beggars can't be choosers.

Cut to night of University gig.  Large crowd arriving for the all nighter. Donny and Brian show their passes and make their way inside. Backstage, the goth band is huddled in one corner with the pop group.  White have taken over the rest of the dressing room.

Narrator - What I should explain at this juncture is that our fee for the gig, £100, had been spent in Nico's Pub prior to the show. And our rider, two cases of strong German lager, and one case of Stella, sneakily swiped from the unsuspecting hitmakers, had barely got us through the soundcheck. All nighters are very dangerous. Particularly when you don't go on until 4am. But our spirits are high and I've got my eye on a very special girl. And her name was Holly.

Cut to record store, George is looking for vinyl.

He picks up Stevie Wonder's 'Songs In the Key of Life'. A girl who's been looking at George approaches him.
Holly - I love that album.
George - Oh, Hi.
Holly - Hi you. You're George aren't you? You sing with that band...
George - Well spotted.
Holly - I saw you support Hipsway.
George - Oh no...
Holly - I liked it.
George - We were...eh... going through a transitional phase...we've got some new songs now.
Holly - Cool. I might come and see you again.
George - We're playing the University all nighter on Friday.
Holly - I know...
George looks pleasantly surprised as Holly approaches him.  She whispers in his ear.
Holly - ... I booked you.
She hands a University flyer to George, kisses him on the cheek before she walks out.
Narrator - Wow....Holly. She was lovely. As Stevie would say, 'I wish those days...could...come back once more'. Holly studied anatomy...  (pause) I could spoil the moment with some cheap innuendo, but I won't.

Cut back to dressing room...Billy and Stevie are showing off, putting pool balls down their trousers making the goths very uncomfortable.  Jim is unfazed by his pending debut and is practicing paradiddles on the edge of the pool table. Gordon is spread over a couple of benches, fast asleep.  An inebriated Devon is lecturing George...
Devon - You cannot drink any more. That's enough..
George - But you're drunk...
Devon - I'm not going on stage in 10 fucking minutes.
George - I'm knackered, I need another drink and I'm shitting myself! What do you want me to do?
Devon looks around, he gives George a small packet with 'London' written on it..
Devon - This is a one off. Don't take it all and ....don't tell the boys.
Narrator - Champions League....  Cocaine...what's the worst that could happen?

Cut to stage, crowd not as large as earlier, tired but enthusiastic. Holly the MC, takes to the stage.
Holly - It's been a long night but here's the one you've been waiting for. Give a big University welcome for the hottest band in Scotland, Glasgow's own....WHITE!
A cheer goes up and the band bound onto the stage.
Gordon - Where's George?
Brian (to Donny in crowd) Where's George?
Holly (to Billy) - Where's George?
Devon (off stage) Where the fuck is George?
Donny (drunk) - Who the fuck is George?

Cut to top of PA stack, a shirtless George is standing with his arms out.

George (shouting) - Glasgowwwww!!!!!!!
A cheer goes up.
George (louder) - Let me hear you....Glasgowwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!
A louder cheer goes up...then the crowd chant..
Crowd - Jump, jump, jump....
Narrator - Sober, I'm fucking terrified of heights.  But pissed and coked to the eyeballs...this is my 'golden god' moment. If you don't want to know the score, look away now.
George (screams!) - Motherfuckers!!!!! (George leaps from the PA to a huge roar, crashes into the bass drum, knocking over cymbals and the mike stand)
Jim quickly re-adjusts his kit and counts off. The band start playing.
Narrator - Come on! Let's show these lazy student bastards what we're all about.
George gets up, fixes his hair, grabs the mike stand and prepares to sing but nothing comes from the mike. George shouts to the sound man.
George - Turn it up!
Still no vocals, the band look at George but continue playing.
George (to soundman) - You!  Yes, you!  Turn my fucking mike up or I'll come over there and kick your fucking head in.  Do it.....
Soundman gestures to George but George continues his tirade.
George -  Hawl...cunt!!!!!!
Stevie take his guitar off and walks over to George as the singer gesticulates to an increasingly angry soundman. He picks up the lead which fell out when George landed on the stage, holds it in front of the singer then plugs it back in, instantly amplifying George.  The soundman stands up and gestures to George that he's going to cut his throat.
Narrator - Fuck, he's quite big. Guys, back me up here.
Cut to the band shaking their heads. The goth band, off stage,  are laughing uncontrollably.
Narrator - There are no words...

Cut to morning in a cluttered flat. George wakes up behind sofa, naked.
Narrator - Ohhhh my fucking head...
George looks over sofa and sees a group of students.
Student - Hey, he's awake. Holly, looks like your friend has re-entered earths atmosphere.
Narrator - Where the fuck am I? And who the fuck are you?
George - Where the fuck am I? And who the fuck are you?
Holly - Good morning sleepy head.
George picks up his shirt and puts it on.  He can't find any of his other clothes. He pulls it down to preserve his modesty.
Holly - Breakfast?
George nods and takes a seat at the table. The seat is cold against his bare butt.
Student - Mate, you might want to peel your strides off the ceiling and put them on.
George looks up and sees his trousers hanging off the lights.
George - Oh God...

Narrator - The absolute worst part of being a drunkard is the following day. That ominous drip feed of information that you thought you obliterated the night before.
Cut to brief flashes of the previous night, George being dragged away from sound man who wants to kill him, Gordon and Billy shouting at him, Holly dragging him into a cab, George throwing up in the cab, being punched by the taxi driver, George dancing around Holly's living room, flying through the air and landing on the remains of a birthday cake that was on the table, being attacked by an angry student, stripping naked, dancing like Iggy Pop, climbing onto the couch then falling off, knocking himself out as Holly tries in vain to lift his dead weight.

Narrator - King of the World or a drunken waster? The phone lines are open. This fine line I will straddle most of my adult life.

George - Can I use your telephone?
Cut to a contrite George calling the band.
Holly - Let's get you cleaned up. Can't share my bed if you're covered in blood and cake.
Narrator - Isn't this woman a saint? Why did I not spend more time with her?  Hang on, I know why. I was an ungrateful fuckhead who, at the time, didn't appreciate the people who passed my way, who shared a moment or two with me, showed me kindness that I rarely deserved.  Especially those who didn't turn the sky black while cursing me. I'm glad I remember them. Someone once said that memory is the treasury and guardian of all things. I'm glad I remember Holly...she was lovely... Worked hard and became a doctor, then a lecturer at the very same University she rescued me from that drunken Friday night. I heard she married a decent, hardworking guy called Alan and they had twin sons. A few years later, she was rushing to a lecture, crossing Argyle Street near the Western Infirmary when she was hit by a car. She fought for weeks...

Holly takes the fragile George into the bathroom and puts him in the tub. She joins him and sits behind him, tenderly washing his hair.
Narrator - (sings softly) I wish those days ...could...come back once more....

Cut to George walking through empty park, heads to bar and orders coffee.

Narrator - This is where I come when I just want to be alone for a while, watch the world go by as I listen to some jazz, pretend to know what the fuck it's about and generally try to be as bohemian as I can. Suffering for your art or just feeling sorry for yourself. Whatever it is, I need a bit of this right now.

A smooth guy approaches George's table.

Smooth guy - Hey man, you played the Uni last night, didn't you? 

Narrator - Aw shit. I'll never be able to show my face in this town again.

George - Err...Yes.

Smooth guy - That was fucking awesome mate. Your band is really good. Have you got any records?

George is taken aback by the attention.

Smooth guy - I'm going to call my flatmate. He's going to be stoked that you're here. Are you hanging around?  Can I get you a drink?

George - I'm fine mate.

Smooth guy - I'm Crawfie by the way. I think I've seen you before. You live on Buccleuch Street, don't you? I own the hairdressers on the corner.

George - (grabs his own hair) - I'm still fine mate!

Crawfie - I also own this pub. Would you guys be interested in playing here?  We can't offer much...

George (jumps in quickly) - How much?

Crawfie - I'm afraid we can't go over £200. Would love to but I can't mate. We can give you beer tokens though.

Narrator - What do you think the £200 is going to be?

George - I'll speak to the boys and we'll let you know.

Narrator - This could drag me out of the doghouse...

Cut to Devon running past the window of the pub.

Narrator - What the...?

Devon runs backward after recognising George. He holds a newspaper up to the window.

Narrator - Thatcher plans to privatise Scotland? Clive Sinclair has a robotic cock?

Devon shakes head and points to column that says...

'Softly Softly pull out of Barrowland show'

Georges eyes light up...Devon nods.

George runs out of bar.

Devon - I've been trying to call you.

George - I still don't have a phone.

Devon - Need to find the rest of the guys. Softly Softly have just signed to Polydor and they've left for New York to record.

Cuts to Gordon in bookies, standing in a pile of betting slips, the cashier calls him over.

Cuts to Jim in his bedroom, making a model aeroplane. His Mum comes in and gives him the phone.

George - I'll get Billy.

Cut to George at Billy's door, putting hand through letterbox and grabbing key on string. He starts to open the door when the door appears to be being blocked.

Who's there?

George - It's me.  Is that you Stevie?

Stevie opens the door.  He's wearing a micro kimono again.

Stevie - Jesus, I thought you were someone else...

George (walks into kitchen) - Sorry mate, didn't mean to wake you. Have you seen Billy?  We've got amazing news.

Stevie - Er...don't go in there...

George fills kettle up

George - You'll never believe it, Softly Softly have pulled out and we're playing the...

George turns to Stevie but notices Myra Blackman, naked and hiding behind the door, trying to cover up her modesty with a dishtowel.

Myra - ..the Barrowland? 

George - Tea anyone?

Narrator - Turns out Myra's influence reaches far and wide.  Stevie was just...thanking her on behalf of the band.

A dressed Stevie shows George the hatch to the roof. George climbs the ladder and peers through the skylight. It's very cold but Billy is heating soup from a little fire he's built.

George - Bold yin.

Billy - Recovered from last night?

George - Kind of. We've got the Barrowland.

Billy - I know.  Myra broke it to us.

George - Bill...I made a bit of an arse of it, didn't I...?

Billy - There's a time for everything under heaven. A time to be born, a time to die. A time to reap, a time to sow. A time to get fucked off your gourd on coke...

George - And a time to do my job?

Billy nods and offers some soup to George.

Billy - I'll tell you this though. After you went, the amount of people that came up to us asking about buying our records, people wanting to book us...the response was incredible. And you jumping off the PA...(laughs)...pure theatre, youngster. We might be onto something.

George and Billy clink soup mugs.

Cut to Myra getting back into bed with Stevie. Gordon running out of the bookies clutching a handful of bank notes, laughing maniacally. Devon ringing a doorbell holding champagne, the door opens and it's the Great Western Girls, thrilled to see him. Jim wearing his housecoat, going into his shed and taking the covers off his drums, smiling.

Narrator - Incredible. A couple of weeks short of my 19th birthday and I've just stumbled onto the biggest gig of my life, supporting Big Country at the Barrowland. Nothing is ever as you planned it. It's as if you've showed the heavenly beings your blueprint and they pish themselves laughing before taking a pair of scissors and some sticky backed plastic to it.  It's still fundamentally the same, the margins don't change but it rarely looks the way you thought it might. Sometimes that's good, sometimes it's a pain in the hole. Best to shut the fuck up, do your damnedest and throw fate to the wind. And try to treat people a little nicer. That's not going to hurt, is it? There is no magic formula.  If there is, we have little control over it. We're all blind men, walking through a maze, wearing shoes on the wrong feet but with pockets crammed full of sweets and candy. The trick is to share them with everyone you meet and hope that they let you sample theirs.  That's as close as I can describe this journey. And fame? Is that what this was all about?  I'm not sure anymore. I just like the connection (cuts to band onstage) You can't look for serendipity. Be it a roof caving in, being protected from Quiff Richard by a desperate sex elf or watching a bunch of fake soul men disappear to New York, leaving you their cast offs. It's just happening all around you. Sometimes, you prepare for the eventualities only to find yourself disappointed by an unseen, external agent, sometimes, you just ..sort of hit.... and hope and sometimes...

Cut to Pigeon dropping 'gift' into Billy's soup

Narrator - Well, sometimes you're just asking for it.

Cut to Studio, band going about their business in preparation for the gig.

Narrator - We rehearsed in a mainly substance free environment for the next few days, carried out our first radio interviews..

Cut to Tom Russell show...

Narrator - Did more press than we've ever done before...

Cut to journalists asking questions, Myra looking on, proud of the band

Narrator - Took more bookings than Graeme Souness...

Cut to Devon on phone, diary in front of him, filling up fast.

Narrator - And received many requests for tickets.

Cut to females asking band, band asking females for favours in return, with varying results.

Narrator - And here we are, undoubtedly the biggest day of my life...

Cut to George walking out to the van. The streets are white after a heavy snowfall.

Narrator - And Glasgow is now twinned with Siberia. Shit. Let's get to the venue.

The band arrive at the venue, Myra is waiting for them.

Myra - Now, I don't want you to panic but...

Gordon - What's the problem?

Devon appears.

Devon - It seems that Big Country are a bunch of fucking faggots.

Billy - What?

Myra - They're stuck in Denmark, snowed in.  Can't get a flight.

Devon (raging) - Shitebags.  They knew....they fucking knew we were going to put on a better show than that Softly, Softly shower of shite so they've bailed on us.

Myra - Devon, trust me, Big Country would never pull out of a show if they could avoid it. Especially here.  I spoke to their tour manager an hour ago, they genuinely can't get out of Copenhagen.

George - What if they drive to Germany and get a flight from there?

Myra shakes her head.

Devon - Well, that's it then? 

Jim - Hang on a minute.  We're still here. We can play.

Gordon - I'm up for that.

Billy - Me too.

Devon - They've been refunding fans all morning.

Myra - But White fans have been buying tickets all week. And in decent numbers too. If we can convince them to leave the show on, refund any Big Country fans who want their money back...

The band, Devon and Myra look at each other then run towards the office of the manager.

Manager (sighs) - Don't see why not. Anything's better than an empty venue. But you'll need to organise and pay for a support band.

George - I can do that.

Narrator - And we were back on again. But how full would it be? We just weren't willing to give up the chance of playing the Barrowland just because of a bit of snow.

Cut to outside the venue, a blizzard is blowing.

Narrator - OK, a lot of snow.

Cut to row of payphones. Devon and Myra are assertively insisting the show is still on. George's call mixes business with the personal.

George - Yes, the gig is on.  Big Country are fucking stuck in Denmark so ...we're headlining, I know, I know but listen...we need a support band...( a roar comes down the phone) ..alright but you need to bring as many people as you can. Start calling now.

Cut to dressing room, the Molotovs are on stage.  The band is nervously preparing for the gig. George looks out of the skylight to see that the blizzard conditions haven't improved.

Narrator - Son of a fucking bitch. Serendipity? Shove it up your fucking ringpiece. Of all the nights...of all the bastarding nights...

Stagehand - Five minutes guys, good luck.

Billy - Just treat it like any other night. Any other gig.

Gordon - At least we're playing the Barrowland.

Jim - Exactly.  What would you rather be doing? Playing here or...

George - At home pulling your pud to 3-2-1? Damn right. Let's get into this.

Gordon - No guts, no glory...no stories to tell?

Devon - That's more like it. C'mon!

Stevie - Fuck the snow!

Band - Yeah!

The band start chanting...'Fuck the snow!'

Cut to side of stage...Molotovs walk off as White walk on.  They are speechless.

George (concerned) - How was it?

Brian pulls a goofy face and shrugs smiling. Andy is in a daze.

Donny (grabs George) - Do it Geo!

Narrator - I can't look at the crowd.  We'll be lucky to get twenty people out on a night like this. Thirty at a push. In a big venue. What an embarrassment. I just can't look...

The band arrive to a mighty roar...George turns to look at the crowd and stands there in amazement.

Narrator - The Barrowland holds 2000 people, perhaps a bit more. The Rolling Stones, U2, Simple Minds, Dylan, they've all played here. If you're from Glasgow, regardless of persuasion, this is your one common temple. Now, ours wasn't the biggest gig the old place has seen but I'd argue dollars to donuts that this crowd of 5-600 hardy souls was the most passionate, devoted and brilliant crowd it's ever hosted. People came from all over the place, in snow that would make Captain Oates say 'Fuck it, I'm staying in tonight to pull my pud over 3-2-1'.  If Big Country would've made it, it would have been a full house. But it would have been their full house. This...

Cut to slow motion crowd pushed to the front of the stage, close up on Holly, Myra, Davie, Crawfy and Wee Alex from the tax office, the Great Western Girls, Mondo, Devon and the Molotovs, rocking out to the music...

Narrator - ...this was ours.

End