24.11.2006 15:57 - Master of Disaster II
4:00pm : Arrive late at the Music shop, thanks to the Ubahn sitting for fifteen minutes in a tunnel. We load the PA into a Taxi and zoom off to HRC. On arrival at HRC, we find the place full with Tottenham Hotspur supporters making a nuisance of themselves. It's the UEFA cup match tonight. At least we won't have to deal with them trying to be funnier than the performers, because kick-off is 8:30pm, which is when we start as well. We drag the PA in, and haul it upstairs.
It is heavy.
Both of us think we are going to die.
After ten minutes of thinking we are going to die, nothing happens, so we decide we're not going to die and build the PA.
Johnny arrives and points out we need an extra microphone. Someone has to rush off and get it from the shop. I discover we need not have dragged the PA downstairs, because there is an elevator. Oh well, that'll come in useful next time.
Spurs fans are making an even bigger pain of themselves. What is it about football that causes IQs to drop sharply?
Meanwhile, the kitchen is still not open from the fire yesterday.
There is a reason for this.
The ventilation unit is blocked up due to the fire, and the only way to the service hatch is through the expensive hotel behind the HRC. Through the Presidential Suite. Which is occupied by the chairman of Tottenham Hotspur. He refuses to allow access. Lines are drawn, threats are made. No-one has pointed out to him that a load of his fans are currently getting very upset about lack of burgers in the HRC, and all he has to do is vacate for 10 minutes. He does not wish to vacate, having paid about 2500 for one night. (You see where your money is being spent, footie fans?) HRC point out that they are about to lose one whole night of income, which is about 12,500. Lawyers are brandished. Eventually the Hotel agree to let them use their kitchen to cook dinners, and when Mr. Spurs chairman leaves for the stadium, some loose cannon sneaks into his room and repairs the ventilator. We don't know who - some cavalier or other.
The comedy show finally gets underway. Amongst the audience is the boss of the World Trade Centre (no, nothing to do with the twin towers) and the wife of german comedian Tom Gerhardt (of Hausmeister Krauss fame). The audience is somewhat subdued due to the emergency menu and last-minute will-they-won't-they confusion.
The song goes fairly well. I forgot the words once or twice, but managed to get out of it with a few ad-libs, which got a few laughs.
Meanwhile the Spurs fans have gone into the Altstadt and wrecked it. So much for the Weltmeistershaftgefühl.
I'm not even going to go into the fiasco this morning as we attempted to get the PA back.