As a rule ladders have never caused me a great deal of hassle. Traditionally I have much more of a problem with doors, which always seem to open in some other way than appears intuitively obvious. As I mentioned in yesterdays entry, there was one time when the ladder fought back.

Back in the days when I first turned professional as a drummer, I needed to supplement my non-existent income from record royalties, and running light shows for my a friend of mine, the quiet and ever-optimistic FR who gladly forked out a few quid to avoid the onerous task of spending an afternoon setting up a light show, was as good a means as any.

The theatre at Swindons Link Centre, a sports and community complex in the west of the town, is at first sight not much to look at. Sort of a big breeze block cube. It spends the day as a gymnasium in normal circumstances. Gigs were infrequent there but usually well attended. I guess entertainment is hard to come by in West Swindon if you don't like painting grafitti or stealing cars.

The first job of the day was sorting out the lights. That's a little tip from an experienced light rigger. They were hanging from metal bars on a walkway up in the roof, something like an extra thirty feet above sea level, and besides needing to be pointed in the desired direction, also needed gels of the right colour inserted, and most importantly of all, the little safety chains fixed to prevent any of these heavy objects falling onto the audience.

These walkways had no direct access. Instead, you had to take a wooden ladder onto the upstairs balcony and climb up on one side or the other. I was part of the way onto a walkway when the ladder slipped sideways. Woooah! Try as hard as I might, I could not get the ladder to balance back on its feet again. It fell sideways onto the seating leaving me dangling from the walkway in the dark, thankfully over the balcony, and not the theatre floor.

I remember making an involuntary cry for help. Below me, a curious member of the public soaking up the atmosphere of a gig in preparation, stared up at me and did nothing, transfixed by the contempt for danger we light riggers had.. Oh brilliant. He wants to watch me die in a horrible accident. Thanks for the assistance mate.

Actually the risk was slight. I managed to unhook myself from sharp metal edges and lower myself to the balcony, suffering only a ripped sweatshirt and soiled underpants. Take a deep breath. Put the ladder back. Start again.

Revenge of the Week

As it turned out, the gig that night was a band I'd encountered while playing with Red Jasper. That was the gig we went all the way to north England only to discover we were getting shafted and pushed into the twilight of the event after the headline act had finished. I'll always remember the smirk on the face of this bands lead singer as we retreated to the van and began our long trek home.

And there he was, below me on the performance area, having long forgotten his arrogant amusement. I was sat in a small room from where I controlled the lights. Control them I did. Fades, flashes, and all sorts of funky combinations, putting on the most epileptic fit inducing performance I could think of when what they actually wanted was mood lighting in front of a seated audience.

Sorry about that... Well, maybe you should have told me what you wanted in the first place.... Nah, that wasn't me....

Revenge is a dish best served bright.