Browsing through the local paper this morning I came across an interview with Master Shortie, Swindons very own rap star.

Who? Never heard of him. I suspect no-one older than eighteen has either. The interview was of course unintentionally hilarious. I'm sure his music career is taking off and I wish him well, but since he made such an effort to say exactly lthe same things every other rap artist in the business does, you could hardly claim he was being original.

He also proclaimed that working hard is necessary to get what you want. A very laudable attitude young man, but I don't believe for a moment you know what hard work is. In any case, hard work merely increases someone elses profits. Working hard for someone who supports your efforts is what you need. That, unfortunately, requires you lick peoples bottoms and whilst you're doing that, you're not working hard. Such is life.

Master Shortie explained that getting up every day to do something musical was great, as if he'd discovered some transcendental nirvana and felt the need to preach the good word. Okay, it was an interview, so I guess he has to say these things to please the media, his fans, and his critics. The reason I'm so cynical is that his views are artificially idealistic, and in any case, I doubt he could get out of bed for anything else.

A Day In The Life Of An Aspiring Rock Drummer

So how was it for me back in the days when rock stardom was an elusive carrot dangling in front of my starstruck eyes? Let's go back in time.... Mwuahahahahaaaaaaaa.....

It is now 1987... First thing is to be at work at eight o'clock. No choice there at all. The bills need top be paid and a drum kit is an expensive mistress, especially since you always need to replace or add to it. On top of that is the car I needed to cart the collection of cylindrical boxes around.

I was driving an old Nissan Cherry back then, a sort of metallic green hatchback that went everywhere. I was once asked why I didn't give anyone a lift to and from gigs. Had they seen what was in the car? The only free space was the drivers seat. At least the car was cheap and reliable to run, although my insurance had gone up considerably after I collided with some idiot who thought he had the right of way to cross a lane of traffic in his van.

Anyhow, work through the morning as an order picker in a warehouse. Physical stuff nonetheless, and some heavy lifting required, but at lunchtime it was time to drive home, have lunch, load my drum kit into the car for the evening performance, then back to work, all in the space of an hour.

After my working day was finished at five in the afternoon, it was off to the gig. That could be anywhere in Britain. London and Bristol especially, along the M4 corridor, but also the south coast, the west country, midlands, and on a regular basis some obscure gig in the north of England.

Set up, soundcheck, play the gig. I would come off stage drenched in sweat and sometimes with blistered hands. pack up, including helping the guys with their gear too, and travel home, arriving very tired around two or four o'clock in the morning.

I had exactly the same routine to go through the next day. And the next. And... Well, you get the picture. So, Mister Shortie, have you really worked hard to get where you are?