People say the funniest things don’t they.

We met up for a beer or twelve and there was this guy there, friend of a friend and I say to him “Do you like classical music?” “Yeah,” he says. “I really like John Lennon.” PPPPPPPFfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttt!

I was talking to this guy in the Shelter Café place on ..

I explain that, yeah, I get the picture. “Right, so you take your coffee out in the street and after a coupla sips, I tell you man, the coffee is already getting cold, it’s that freezing on the street. By the time you get halfway through your coffee it is too cold to drink so you waste half of the coffee.”

The other guy behind the counter has been listening and now he joins in.

“They should make it hotter,” chimes in the boy genius.

Hotter than boiling?

I ask him how this is possible.

He shrugs and says “Well, they just have to try harder.”

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPpppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttt!

This is another absolutely true story.

I had to go to the hospital quite a while ago. Way before the likes of Catherine Tate or Little Britain when shock language from old people started to be common currency.

I was waiting and sitting by two elderly women. One asked the other how they (?) were taking care of her husband.

“Oh, it’s marvellous. They look after him so well.” “Oh, that’s nice,” her companion comments.

“They bathe him twice a week and make sure he’s clean all over. They wash his bollocks and everything.”

I nearly fell off of my seat!

I was talking to a TV presenter; he’s often on BBC’s Breakfast program. It turns out that he’s an aviation expert and was telling me and a pal how he travels all over the World talking at aviation conferences. A really nice bloke.

Anyway, we’ve been listening to him explaining about the World of aviation and we’ve been asking questions about how the industry has been affected by the economic slump and what his views are of a third runway at Heathrow, what he thinks of the global warming lobby etc. Then I change tack and ask “So, there’s something I’ve always wondered. “What’s that?” he asks. “Well, just how long do people have to be stewards and stewardesses before they get to be pilots?”

This guys brow furrows and he actually starts to reply. “Well ....Gary...., it doesn’t actually work that way….” It was only when I started grinning like mad that he realised I’d had him. PPPPPPPPPPPPpppppppfffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttt!

Went to the cinema a few years back to see ‘Life Is Beautiful’, the Oscar winning Italian language film about Jewish people shipped out of ....Italy.... in the Second World War to be sent to concentration camps. It was an important film because prior to that ....Italy....’s official stance had been that they were in no way complicit with the Nazi’s in the Holocaust.

As I got to the window I asked for a ticket for ‘Life is Beautiful’. The young girl behind the kiosk looked at me for a little too long and asked me if I was sure that was what I wanted to see.

I told her that I was and she said ‘It’s all in foreign you know!!

PPPPPPPPPPPPPppppppfffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttttt!

I sat and wrote this because someone said something bloody ridiculous to me yesterday but I can’t remember what the hell it was now! Lol

If you have any overheard or said straight at ya stoopid things – why not share them with us.

All love to ya

Cheats and Liars    

Hello and thanks for looking in. Hopefully this will be three minutes well spent.

Take a look at this picture. It is of Sir Liam Donaldson, Chief Medical Officer of England and Wales.

....

This is the man who was largely responsible for ushering in the smoking ban in 2007 and who now wants you to pay far more for your alcohol. This, he expostulates, will stem the flow of Britains ‘binge drinking’ epidemic. An epidemic that as far as we can tell has been known as ‘The Great British Culture’ as far back as the days of Hogarth in the 18^th Century

Now, with the economic slide, presided over by a Labour Government, when times are tough and pubs are virtually no go areas for smokers and drink has to be consumed at home, this pie munching authoritarian Government influencing equivalent of the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang wants a can of lager to cost no less than £1.00.

Sorry, is it us or has he eaten more than his fare share of pies and let his membership of the gym lapse?

It’s the Government that makes decisions on our behalf but they need people like good old Sir Liam to make the recommendations for them to act upon in legislation.

Let’s see what jolly, cuddly old Sir. Liam has said in the past:

A public smoking ban would benefit the economy as well as people's health, the Chief Medical Officer for England has said.

In his annual report, Professor Sir Liam Donaldson said a ban could save up to £2.7 billion.

Source: BBC News – July 2004

Well, we know where that went but the Government were the ones to pass legislation to make the ban the law.

The Government believes wholeheartedly in the common sense of the law and even go so far as to tell the World that they were well ahead of the game, banning smoking as far back as 1694:

Did you know the House of Commons was one of the earliest organisations to ban smoking in certain public areas in 1694?

As smoking is banned in public places across the UK this summer under the Health Act 2006, it may be interesting to know that on 23 March 1694  the House of Commons passed two resolutions recorded in the Commons Journal.

Source: The Parliament website http://www.parliament.uk/parliamentary_publications_and_archives/parliamentary_archives/smoking.cfm....

But hang on a moment. What’s this?

Although not illegal in the Palace of Westminster, both Houses of Parliament agreed to restrict smoking to four designated outside areas, although those caught smoking will not face financial penalties.

Source: BBC News July 2007

So, they don’t have to abide by the law that they passed, they will restrict smoking to outside but if they are CAUGHT smoking inside they will not be punished like the rest of us. We have a friend who works at The Palace of Westminster and he says that Members are seen smoking as a matter of course. Not hugely but more often than say, where you work, or at the Jobcentre

Oh well, maybe they still believe it’s the best thing but wait…......

Dozens of heads of state, politicians and diplomats will be meeting at the Excel Exhibition Centre in Docklands, London, next month.

It is believed that laws have been changed to get around the smoking ban and provide specialist rooms that the visiting dignitaries can use.

Source: Daily Mail March 2009

So, when President Obama (he smokes) and President Sarkozy (self confessed smoker of ‘the weed’), Gordon Brown (never ‘smokin’), and the other World leaders in attendance can smoke away, in a public place, free from molestation.  Well, it’s only fair. They ARE working hard on behalf of you and me.

But what has Sir. Liam been whispering into the ear of our leaders today?

Proposals to set a minimum price for alcohol have been drawn up by England's chief medical officer Sir Liam Donaldson.

Source: BBC News – March 2009

He has recommended that the minimum charge per unit of alcohol should be 50p. £1 a tin of lager for example. Does the figure matter though for what will no doubt be Government priced booze? Not really. That will rise and rise over time anyway. It’s the damned principal. What happened to protection of free market economies and what happened to liberty and freedom?

Still, The Government pledged in 2000 to reduce the inequalities in Healthcare by 10% by 2010 so they do care about us. But what’s this?

Ministers have wasted public money in their attempts to tackle health inequalities, MPs say.

The House of Commons' Health Committee said the government should have been more careful in designing and piloting projects in England.

Source: BBC News March 2009

So how much have they wasted (of our money – that’s yours and mine)?....

But despite the Government's commitment in the 2000 NHS plan to reduce health inequalities by 10% by 2010, ministers and officials had not made even "basic calculations" about how much was being spent on the issue.

Source: The Guardian March 2009

So, they’ve blown a wedge so large that they don’t even have a clue as to how much it is. The average cost of building a new hospital today is £40million. How much money has been wasted? 7 hospitals? 12 hospitals?

Sir. Liam Donaldson (remember the unhealthy, red faced fat man from earlier on),  should remember that he is Chief Medical Officer and not your Dad. ....

Breaking news this Sunday afternoon is that the Government look set to reject Sir. Liam’s recommendation which can only be good news. However, what does all of this say about a Government who lied to us about weapons of mass destruction and who have allegedly taken cash in return for Peerages? They are continuing to look at ways to tackle binge drinking so keep your eyes and ears open. One way of preventing the misuse of alcohol might be better education and a real attack on poverty? Don’t ask us, we are just working class lads. What do we know?

The next time someone near you says that they have no interest in politics, have a word will you?

We’re a band called ‘Cheats and Liars’. Did you ever really think that we were referring to ourselves?
Gary

3pm - Bank Holiday Monday - Hyde Park, behind speakers corner cafe'. Bring food and drink.

Boris Johnson has claimed that the Tube booze ban was one of the great successes of his first 100 days in office. But this is only the start and it isn't just Boris - and it isn't just London. There are now restrictions on drinking alcohol in squares, parks and streets all around the UK - and in many other countries, from town centres in the Czech Republic, to beaches in New Zealand, Australia and the USA.

Booze bans are paternalistic regulations and another example of our freedoms being eroded. We believe that public spaces should be just that - a place where we can come together as a public - to argue and compaign, to chat with friends and socialise. I anyone behaves irresponsibly then don't we pay for a police force to deal with thos people? Why are we allowing authorities to erode all of our civil liberties so that they can take the easy road and not deal with trouble elements but prevent all of us from living our lives the way that we want to live them? We also oppose the puritanical move to prevent under 21 year olds - who can vote from buying alcohol at off-licences.

There is a provocation picnic on Monday the 25th of August in Hyde Park, London at which a report will be launched looking at the rise of booze bans. Why not go along and enjoy a drink in the park while you still can? 

See more details on the website below

http://www.manifestoclub.com/boozebancampaign

Cheats and Liars for the Manifesto Club

Hey one and all.

We feel so lucky to have so many wonderful friends and we want to take this opportunity to thank you and wish you all the very best for Christmas and the New Year.

We have a gig booked at the Babalou Club (formerly the Bug Bar) on 24th January and we intend to get a lot more gigs sorted out for 2008 as far and wide as  we can manage.

All our love

Cheats and Liars x 

You may or you may not know that businessman Richard Caring plans to turn the old Horse Hospital section of Camden Market into a modern shopping mall. It may or may not mean anything to you – but we think it should.

Camden has always been a special place. You don't go there for a Mothercare buggy or some Boots the chemist throat lozenges. You go there with a vague intention to buy, and that may happen, but more than that you go there for Camden and the people. You go there to meet up; you go there for the sounds, for the sights, the colours, the smells, the whole damned vibe.

People of all kinds make up the essential Camden. This is not the typical England, plastipack town shopping centre and it isn't like even the cooler markets around London. It is uniquely Camden.

Wanna Tintin doll from Belgium? Wanna 1950's coke tray? Want some bondage trousers or the most amazing orange patent leather boots? Wanna Wizzer and Chips annual from 1978 ? Want 3 poppers for a fiver ? Want a really decent Vietnamese / Thai / Chinese / Mexican lunch for an average of £3.50 ? Wanna David Cassidy poster ? Wanna look at enough bootlegs to keep you busy for several hours ? Wanna see Goths, Punks, Rasta's to your hearts content and maybe have a chat with random strangers from all points of the globe ?

Well, you isn't getting that from some Saturday market in Chelmsford (sorry Chelmsford, not picking on you per se).  There are enough of those around already. Why change something that is unique to a carbon copy of every other shit stinking boredom factory anyway. Oh, cos lots of people are drawn to Camden.

WELL, THEY WON'T BE IF YOU FUCK IT UP !

Yesterday we found that the terrific vintage clothes outlets that have been under the arches forever have already gone. This was our favourite place in London to get togged up. Already gone.

If anyone reads this and knows where those great gals and guys are now, please let us know 'cos we couldn't find them.

Look, we hate to be put in a position where we are fighting change. We mostly enjoy change. It's a challenge and usually it's a positive step. However, we are forced to take a retrograde stance on this one as big fat bloated business people like Richard Caring (what irony is in that huh ? Richard Caring), don't seem to appreciate how sticking a shopping mall in the heart of Camden Market is like sticking a paedophile halfway house next to Cheltenham College for fine young Ladies.

The hubris of the man. There are pictures depicting nuclear families shopping at some glass and steel horror of a shopping emporium, plastered with the names of cancer soaked retail business up where our vintage clothes shops used to be. Outlets like that do not extend warm welcomes to the stud faced brave tribe that gives life to Camden purely by their bravery and boldness in being who they are.  So, is the intention to squeeze out the 'real' people with the Audi driving ratshits that infest the rest of this country ? We would say a resounding 'YES'.

Let's have more credit using, City working, sprog dropping, Independent reading, Coldplay listening genuine consumers filling Camden and less people.

Fuck Richard Caring and his Council lackeys who are, we have read in the Standard, intimidating the current traders into silence by threatening to take their licences away if they speak out. We are losing our liberties at such a rate it makes your head spin anyway. Please, just in the way that you speak about this issue, help to apply pressure by letting everyone you know know how you feel about this.

What's next ? The Portobello road Ice-Rink and Leisure centre ?

Pass the drugs – we need to get outta here !

After quite some groaning and moaning and a general lack of real desire to sit and write anything at all it has fallen to me to write a blog of the incidents that transpired and unfolded during the 3 days or so that Cheats and Liars left the UK to perform in Sicily at the annual Porticello Cultural and Musical Festival. These days were late Friday 17^th August to very, very late Monday 20^th August.

The band finally got together at Stanstead Airport, myself, Micky and Stephen having travelled in my car and Stefano having taken the train with roadie Enrico (Kicke' pronounced Kick eh ?),  and after the pain free booking in of bags and instruments separately, the band retired to a bar after the check in area and hoovered several very agreeable Czech lagers. Fine drinks they were too.

On the three hour flight Stephen read, myself and Michael, aided by a two port adapter, listened to my i-Pod and drank several more very agreeable lagers while Stef and Kicke' slept for much of the time. Well, Stef slept when I wasn't flicking his ears which was around every twenty minutes which didn't elicit too much complaint until we boarded the bus at  Palermo Airport to take us to our hire car when Stef semi-exploded and the remainder of us stood heads down (everyone else), or sniggered (myself).

I have to draw attention at this point to the fact that we had left behind us a very wet and miserable ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Britain and we were now in Palermo Sicily at 10:30 p.m. and it was HOT, HOT, HOT. This remained a feature of the stay which was mostly welcomed.

A drive of around an hour and we were in the beautiful if a little dark Porticello. We chose our sleeping accommodation (I bunked with Micky, Stephen slept alone and Stefano and Kicke' shared a room), we ate a very fine meal (ribbon pasta, tomato sauce, meat balls, cold meats and cheeses with plenty of bread) and took to the streets and found a beach bar and resumed our career of drinking. A late one ensued of which I personally have little memory but eventually someone had the bright idea that we ought to sleep so bedward we wended.

The morning revealed a country of terrifically bright and hot sunshine with lush vegetation and wild flowers of all colours and textures. The bay was beautiful so, after breakfast which seemed chiefly to be about dropping biscuits into a wash hand basin of latte which I couldn't handle really so I went for bread and espresso (I failed to get an Americano until the Sunday and this is always my breakfast – hot, sweet, black coffee and cigarettes), and once we were all washed and ready (three showers a day minimum), we made our way to the beach and beer.

This mornings drinking was fine indeed. We met members of the band playing on Saturday night (The Bluesmobile), who were dead cool, and musicians who would be playing a slot between our two sets on Sunday night. It has to be pointed out at this stage that Sicily is not like mainland Europe (Islands, including mine, are almost always populated by distinctive peoples and Sicily is no exception), or Italy come to that in that very few people speak English. This meant that unless Stefano or Kicke' who is Spanish so can understand quite a lot of what is being said in Italian, were present, most conversation was carried out with a mixture of gestures and blind  faith.

It became clear that if anyone we met was not an immediate member of Stefano's family or a cousin or second cousin or even a third, then they were an old friend, lover, acquaintance or the family doctor.

Stefano's family were all wonderful (non English speaking), people who made us all feel very welcome indeed and there isn't a thing that they wouldn't do for us.

We lunched with them (ribbon spaghetti, bolognaise sauce, great hunks of hot, fresh baked bread, all kinds of salad, chips (yes, bloody fine chips)), some kind of lamb dish (stew ?) and goodness knows what else – all absolutely fantastic and nothing more entered my system for 24 hours apart from liquid sustenance.

Following this marvellous banquet we returned to our rooms for a much needed rest. Well, we'd drunk a lot, ate a lot and it was damned hot. I awoke alone and so showered and set off for the harbour. I took quite a lovely stroll but was getting fairly hot and bothered going up a hill so I swung a left and then a right and landed at a bar.

I was looking out to sea when Giovanni, a singer that I had met that morning, saw me and immediately called out 'Gary' and motioned for me to join him at the bar.

Giovanni is something of a bear of a man. Not fat but very tall and broad and, again, with no English. It had been explained to me that he would be singing traditional Sicilian type songs in our break but that he did not sing words but sang phonetically, making sounds with his voice to match the music. He was very friendly towards me and insisted that we have cold beers with enormous chunks of lemon ice in them and would growl at me in a rather clear way each time I tried to pay. He wasn't having any of that.

After several of these oddly sweet and beautifully cold beers he put his arm across my shoulder and rather forcefully led me from the bar, all the while speaking and making no sense to me whatsoever. Some expressions were obviously questions to which I could only shrug and smile.

After a short walk we reached a car which he motioned to with pride and opened the passenger side door for me. Clearly a road trip was scheduled.

We drove for around half an hour, all the while Gio talking nine to the dozen and me nodding sagely and shouting the odd 'Rock and Roll' which he seemed to appreciate and take his hands from the steering wheel and clap and repeat at high volume. At most points this was on very narrow single track roads or at busy intersections where rules of the road, if ever written, had long been forgotten and I could easily see me coming home in a box or on a stretcher.

'Dio ?', Gio seemed to enquire of me. 'Ronnie James Dio ?' I responded and was rewarded by Gio fishing around in a bag of CD's until he found the device of torture and slapped a CD of the aforesaid mentioned height restricted rocker into the cars stereo so that I could now further 'enjoy' my trip.

Having said that, much of the passing scenery was stunning and breathtaking. Mountains seemed to rise from an azure sea and the day itself was so bright that colours have never appeared so vivid.

Gio continued his pointless but no doubt well intentioned monologue and from what I could gather, each restaurante' and taverna that we passed was the home of wonderful food and we would be visiting each and every one of them after the gig on Sunday night. This I could just about understand. We stopped at the odd taverna for more welcoming cold beer and with each introduction to the locals I could pick up 'Londres' (London), and 'Led Zeppelin'. At the mention of these words faint gasps were heard and I was looked at with a new fascination.

I could only imagine that they were thinking how fucking old Led Zeppelin had got.

Gio's mobile went off and it was Stefano asking where I was. Much conversation ensued and we were back in the car, racing back to Porticello.

We found the bar and pizza restaurante where Stef was holding court and then I saw Micky.

Leaning rather shakily against the door frame, Micky called my name a little too loudly, his hat on at a jaunty angle, his sunglasses a little askew, holding a glass of clear liquid that I instinctively knew was not going to be water.

Stefano had introduced Mick to Sicilian and Italian liqueurs and then started off a beer and vodka shot session that the owner was taking part in, shot for shot. I could instantly see that the locals thought this great sport as Micky was clearly plastered.

"Gary, come in here and have a drink – it's great – this is really weak vodka and we're on the second bottle and I don't even feel like I've had a drink." He was fucking plastered.

Stefano left us as he had to see about borrowing some additional amps for the following night and sorting out a rehearsal venue for Sunday afternoon so I went into the scene of Micky's undoing and was urged to join the carnage.

I was not keen to get wrecked and spoil my evening as I wanted to see the band play so I resisted as much as I could and was more than willing to take the broken English instructions of the local Mafia boss who wanted Mickey taken back to his lodgings to sleep off the mess he had made of himself.

Now, I had to take a few vodka's for the team for Mickey but the bugger still managed a few more and I said our goodbyes and took Micky back.

Now, this place is beautiful but small and everyone knew who we were. A couple of episodes occurred at this point that I shall not go into detail about but……..

I met a beautiful girl with no English who presented me with fish (anchovies), who would take no money but wanted my autograph which I resisted as I couldn't understand why she would want it (once I realised that I had hurt her feelings because as far as she was concerned I was simply refusing when that was not the intention of my denial so I did not make that mistake again), and had shop keepers leave their counters to have their photographs taken with Micky and me. What these portraits look like I have no idea as Micky was grinning in a child like way and swaying like a …..well, a drunk person.

Anyway, I got Micky on his bed and he certainly must have drunk a great deal as he slept for 17 or the next 24 hours.

I shaved, showered again, changed clothes and made my way to the venue.

Now, I had not had a dry day by any means but I did cane it Saturday night.

I drank cold lagers (2 Euros so about £1.30), and a fuck off large Ameretto (also 2 Euros) with each beer and there were no measures – just a big glass of ice and the dissarano poured over the ice.

The band were great and they played almost three hours with the odd break. Their blues was very professionally played and with a lot of feeling and the crowd loved it.

I met lots of beautiful people, I laughed, I smoked like a forest fire, I danced, told jokes to people who couldn't understand what I was saying and I had a fine old time of it.

Stef was possibly more drunk than me and kept getting onto the stage with the band playing and I do remember thinking that they did not look too amused. Stephen and Kicke' were fine company indeed  and certainly drank more responsibly but just as eagerly (i.e. loads of beers but not with any kind of accompaniment). Obviously Micky missed his Saturday night but the following day we did find out that after the pizza Chef started burning the pizza's (he must have been joining in with the general afternoon madness), that the owner had blown a fuse and ordered everyone out, locked the doors and collapsed on the floor where he slept all night. Saturdays and Fridays are their biggest nights so he may have got this half English, half German drummer fucked but he lost a nights takings.

Next morning, more bread and espresso, another shower and off out.

I found somewhere to get a decent Americano coffee which was great, and Stephen, Kicke', Micky and myself took a very nice long walk to another village. More espresso (these tiny shots of syrup thick coffee were by now making my hands shake), and a walk up a cliff to see an absolutely beautiful view of the clear sea and striking mountains.

Kicke' loved the coast and had already been spending time tombstoning and was debating another jump however, we pointed out how fucking high up were and that the perilous journey back might well take a very long time. That would be if he survived the jump.

Micky was sweating pure vodka bullets and suffering in the time honoured fashion so we were pleased when Stefano called to say that he was driving out to find us and fetch us back. He found us, said that all gear had been sorted out and a rehearsal venue so everything was cool.

We had a beautiful lunch, again a shower, and then into a convoy of three vehicles (the other musicians were coming with us), into the mountains to our rehearsal.

The terrain became ever wilder and we ended up on single track steep roads seeing only packs of wild dogs from time to time. This was quite a wild trip.

We finally stopped at a house, set down some steps in the hills with a view of olive groves sloping first down into the distance and then up the next mountain again.

The house was rented (125 Euro's a month), by one of the local musicians as a rehearsal space and Christ knows what but was huge. The back, from which the wonderful view described earlier, made for a wonderful vista and could be seen uninterrupted as the entire length of the building had a conservatory bolted on. It was into this massive, glass space that we entered and two massive, barking dogs ran out to 'greet us'.

I love animals as anyone who knows me knows, but large, loping, loudly barking dogs are not an especial favourite. I was so fucking hot I just went with it, got on my haunches and allowed them to lick my hands and face. They were fine and very happy. Obviously, to them, the remainder of the pack had arrived.

A closed door was the entry to the house proper and upon opening revealed a small room with sofa and two armchairs, a table, TV and many wall posters and the odd bit of Goth art, torso's covered in tattoos and lacerations – rather well done I thought.

Oh, and the most enormous goth, trousers around ankles and boots still on, pumping away on a rather young and pretty goth girl, using the sofa as a rest point for her elbows, also still wearing her boots,  while her companion pumped away for all that he was worth.

He looked around, his ponytail waving over his right shoulder as he surveyed us, his expression not so much registering surprise as much as irritation at our arrival, and all I could say as I backed out was 'ciao'.

After some minutes, giant goth emerged, muttering I know not what followed a few minutes later by the young recipient of her companions arduous efforts.

I have to say, there were some sniggers but in all honesty I was not one of the  sniggerers – honestly.

"It appears", said Stef, "That this is the rehearsal space and knocking shop."

I confess, this did make me laugh.

A room beyond the first was soundproofed (why ? There was fuck all else around), and we set up and had rather a good rehearsal. What made it especially sweet was that more giant Goths with petite goth girlfriends arrived and along with the local musicians, we got a real good reaction to the songs. Being ever so slightly nervous about what we were to do in a few hours time, seeing the open, happy expressions on these peoples faces and having them applaud each song was amazing.

We all played pretty well and Kicke' assured us that we sounded fit and solid so the exercise was voted a real worthwhile effort.

We drove back to Porticello and it was time to start thinking about the evening.

I have to give a great deal of credit to Stef. He made certain that everything was in place with regards to the organisers, that gear was all sorted out, soundcheck  all carried out and allowed me to behave like the star I am ! (go on, allow me this indulgence).

I went into town wearing a light suit and was taken into every restaurant kitchen to meet chefs and owners ( a lot more 'Londres' and 'Led Zeppelins'), and was assortedly  kissed, shaken hands with, embraced and generally made to feel like the proverbial mutts nuts.

A few drinks and back again for another shower and a change into the dark blue suit that I was wearing on stage and the black and red rockabilly shirt made for me by the wonderfully talented Emma-Jane Bazley  (she also made the brown flecked shirt I had worn earlier on in the evening  - check out her site emma-janeclothing.com she is making much of my stage clothes but makes great every day wear for dudes and chicks).

To the venue and another beer before going on. When I was young and gigged for something like eight years I was always terribly nervous before performing. I would often vomit before a performance which isn't good for a singer. This time I was excited and a little apprehensive but all of the rehearsing and writing over the past seven or eight months was about to become the point of something new and I couldn't wait.

Maybe I should have mentioned – although we were the headline act and the Sicilian Council did not know this, this was our debut performance.

We kicked off with a dedication from Stefano for the performance to be in memory of his Cousin who sadly died earlier in the year following complications after an operation. Stefano was very close to her and she was only in her early thirties.

Then we went into Junk. The sound on the stage was not too hot and we had problems hearing one another (Stephen couldn't hear his bass, I couldn't hear my singing, Micky could only hear his drums and Stef couldn't hear me), but we played like lions and once the song was over the reception was amazing.

Buoyed by this we played 'Go On Alone' or, as we call it, the Gay song (no offence, it just comes over a bit – well, "You can't fill a hole with another hole"  - you know), which is a lot harder edged live, and this too received applause, whistles and the like.

The reception to 'Falling Down' was the very best so far and this really lifted us to enjoy the rest of the gig like some distance runner knowing that he is now uncatchable.

Stef translated as I linked each song with an explanation of the meaning of the song. Our sound challenges gradually got sorted out during the show and we played from 10 p.m. to midnight with a short break during which Giovanni and the boys did a great job playing to their home crowd.

I was sweating buckets but as we finished with a blistering rendition of our theme song 'Cheats and Liars' I knew that this was a golden night  and that the palm reader who had told me that I had to completely change my life had been right. It had all been worthwhile.

Songs that raised the atmosphere and got the most amazing reactions were, 'Falling Down' (as mentioned), 'Judas', 'Believe', 'Stone', 'Something's gonna Kill Ya' and 'End of the World'. It was all good but these got incredible reactions.

There's loads more. The girl that painted all my fingernails black (Roberta – you were a real charm), the gay guy who told Stefano that he and I had "Something special in common",  Pietra, who strongly suspected that I was chatting his stunning girlfriend up with good reason but was very cool about it, The girls who bought me drinks but who ran away when I shouted 'Bulla my Friends HA HA HA' at them (it's Gary and Peters traditional drinks scream),  Katia who told me off for not learning more Italian (sorry girl), Taya  who was delightful and gave me a cigarette but no light and much, much more.

Monday was a wonderful last day filled with people approaching us and giving us hugs and being frightfully nice.

Sad goodbyes to Stefano's family, airport and home. Loads of turbulence and a fantastic lightening show in the air – I loved it.

So, that was that.

Thanks to Camilla and Hugo and my Mum for texting me with good luck wishes and thanks to you who, having got this far, have proved you are a real friend. Thanks for your patience.

All love

Cheats and Liars