Diary of a Spooky Man - Part 9

By Nic Macken

Spooky Man Robbie handed the diary-writing baton to yours truly for the final part of this big crazy charade we call a spooky tour. This was partly because, as he said, he would be sodding off and doing his own thing for the next few days with his lovely partner, but additionally, he would also not be attending the third half of the tour (which is about to commence as I write this). Rhys and Robbie’s entries have been incredibly entertaining for me personally, and clearly for many of you as well, so I will do my very best to follow in their footsteps of silliness and eloquence.

Day 31 - Sidmouth

The blistering sun, which the UK decided to borrow from Australia this summer, shot brutally through the curtain on the inside of the window of room 8, Saltash Travelodge, venturing past my eyelids, through my pupils and straight into my whisky-cheese-dreams. With the accompanying urban serenity of the nearby motorway, triple-roundabout-induced truck honks and bin-foraging seagulls, I was non-consensually up and at ‘em, dull-eyed and flimsy-tailed.

Spook Dom had echo-located a nearby Costa Coffee Express, so I too battled my way through a nettle jungle, the smell of 3 star coffee (and maybe google maps) my guiding star. The mission was, overall a triumph, with only 47% of my calves nettled to buggery, an increase of 34ppm of CO in the lungs, and most importantly, a coffee and some foods fetched for both myself and the Spookmeister.

Bound for a 12pm workshop at Sidmouth, the morning’s early crew piled into Beast (the merch van) and pushed off with, seemingly, very little time to spare. No offence to the previous writer of this diary, but rows two and three came to realise halfway through the journey that he likely had the “avoid toll roads” setting ticked on his navigation, adding 53 minutes to the drive. Nevertheless, riled up with excitement to see his other half, Robbie got us there beautifully and efficiently, skilfully navigating the narrow bumpiness of the wagonways up the hill to the workshop venue, the Bulverton. We arrived with seconds to spare!

The big top tent was actually a sauna in disguise, but no matter; Stephen got the crowd of 200 stomping, grunting, shouting in no time. A spooky version of the Beatles’ song And I Love Her was taught, which the Sidmouthers sang with all of their hearts causing some feelings amongst the present spooks, which finally woke us up a little. Love song out of the way, it was time for some preliminary studies of what would be this years Sidmouth town invasion belter, Glagolitica.

A spooky classic, which of course none of the spooks (bar Stephen) knew any more than the punters. A whiteboard procured for lyric-learning, we chipped away at the fatberg-like beast and found that it did all actually make a decent amount of some kind of sense. Many grunts and TABOGASHINAs later, the workshop concluded and all bailed for every possible exit to escape the heat that had worsened considerably with all the flailing around.

The rest of our first day in Sidmouth was much more relaxed. A clump of us even clambered over the pebbles into the icy sea to cool off, a personal first beach (if you can call it that) swim of the tour. The spooks coalesced later that evening in a shady spot behind Sidmouth Folk Festival’s main stage for tree climbing, some mildly crucial logistical information, wristband distribution and, most importantly, rehearsal of a brand spanking new spooky song (the details of which I will avail you of shortly).

Jaimie volunteered to run up the hill to the office wherein lay the lyrics that Stephen had asked be printed, and returned with TWO HUNDRED copies (I think Stephen may have added an accidental second zero to his order). The rehearsal went fine. So fine, in-fact, that the song was deemed ready for the surprise gig that would be occurring in a few short hours.

The secret gig took place at the lush and (despite the island-wide drought) very green Knowle Gardens. In place of a merch table, there was a conveniently plonked concrete slab which had some sort of plaque sticking out of it, and in lieu of a stage there was a conveniently placed amphitheatre, with a massive centralised swirling spiral of grass and pebbles. We made use of this spiral for the first few songs, starting the show from the outside, then running around to the next revolution after each song. The line compressed until we all crashed stupidly into a man-clump on the origin, stumbling to re-organise ourselves into a man-line in the usual uselessly slow fashion.

Before long, the Spookmeister declared that this was already our “best gig ever”, with some grunts of agreement from the line as it was, truly, quite a gig. The circularity of the amphitheatre, the soft evening light letting us see the fear in the audience’s eyes, the surrounding greenery; it was just special. Before we knew it, it was time for the international debut of the sewer-bound narrative epic, The Revenge of The Fatberg.

I shall refrain from detailing the contents of the song itself, as I think it’s best experienced IRL, but it is a cautionary tale based on the very real and horrible discovery of the 64m long fatberg in Sidmouth seven years ago. The crowd, being partly locals, absolutely loved the new folk ballad.

Coral even began giving out complementary Fatberg lyrics with each merch purchase, as at this point we still had 178 spares.

The night was capped with a big spooky sing in the Bedford, a session-rammed pub on the seafront, during which we sung The Revenge of The Fatberg TWICE (many bystanders singing along with their own lyric sheets), then finally we ambled our way to our digs at Colaton Raleigh, where Stephen, Coral, Joe, Dom and Callum ALL managed to balance an egg on an egg, a long held Sidmouth spooky tradition. This was followed immediately by some well earned rest on ye olden Halfords Essentials Camp Beds.

Day 32 - Still at Sidmouth

Breakfast in the morning would be Stephen’s amazing poached eggs, after which we all headed back into the festival. Some via van, some via car, and a solid group via the long walk along the beautiful cliffs of Lyme Bay. My day was largely spent avoiding the brutal sun as well as sampling various festival foods. Special mention to Mac Daddies for making a STONKING mac & cheese.

Next on the agenda was our headlining show at the main stage, entitled the HAM (though the only ham I could find was in the amazing crepes from the nearby crêperie). Sound was checked, during which the Spookmeister got his foot caught on an input cable and subsequently had a sneezing fit, both of which improved the EQ of my tinnitus greatly.

Straight after soundcheck it was off to Fatberg Square (the shady area ‘round the back) to again rehearse the new song finalising scanning, workshopping emotional arc, and bringing returning spook Chris Samuel up to speed. A swim-plus-divide-and-conquer-dinner later, we were blacked up and ready to walk on stage. Special mention to the amazing support act, The Wilderness Yet.

The show was, as we have come to expect in the HAM, a rock crusher. The audience showered us with their love from the first note, including the large portion of them unable to lodge themselves into the rammed tent who watched from outside the entrance. Fatberg was met with equal parts laughter and gagging, then later the encore, What the World Needs Now, featured one of the best audience singalongs and phone torch-swaying I’ve witnessed all tour.

After the gig, some of us were able to have a brief over the phone catch up with our dearly missed merch legend Cai who couldn’t tour with us this year due to the call of amazing overseas opportunities in New York State. For a third time in two days, feelings were, quite genuinely, had. I retired early, listening to the echoing call of the recently delivered blow up mattresses back at the hall.

I shall sign off here for this entry, because WOW we did a lot at Sidmouth. There is still one last day to go in the festival, then off to London for the final show of the second half. Stay tuned!

Much love,

Nic