The Real Hustle

I am currently sitting in my hotel room in Madrid, its the second day of the tour as i write this, and last night's show in El Sol was great fun,
we're back in there tonight for another show, and it should be a cracker with a good Friday night feeling. Its been a couple of years since we last
played in Madrid, and its been really nice to wander round the city this morning and get to look around and chill out with a cafe con leche in the
Galiceria. But it nearly didn't happen, at the last minute on Wednesday, whilst waiting for our connecting flight to Madrid in Gatwick Airport, i
suffered an unfortunate occurence which i will now share with you all. This is a tale of a real hustle, a rollercoaster ride of theft, panic, stress,
whisky, newcastle brown ale and last minute good fortune in the face of adversity.

We were sitting in the Village Inn, a 'delightful' wetherspoon's establishment in the Gateway Village in Gatwick Airport, recovering over coffee from
an early flight from Glasgow. We had a few hours to kill before we could check in for the connection to Madrid. We were sorting out expenses, and i put
the remaining money back in my inside jacket pocket, and we continued to recover. We left the Inn shortly after and were sitting in a wee seating area
when i put my hand in my pocket and realised the expenses money had gone. I ran back round to the Inn to see if anyone had handed anything in. Ran back
to the seating area went through my jacket again, and bag, several times, suddenly realised that my passport was missing too. F**K SQUARED!!!! There had
been a slightly shifty character that had sat down behind me after we finished with the expenses. No one thought anything of the fact that he hadn't bought
a drink or food, and was just sitting at the table, i did think it odd that he was sitting directly behind me when he was on his own, but you never really
think too hard about these thinkgs until after the event. He had dipped my pocket and not only managed to nick our money, but also my passport which i'd put
in the same pocket.

Panic ensues, as i phone the police, explain the situation, get a crime number, am told to inform the airline and see what they can do re me flying, and
report it to the Passport Agency so they can block the passport. Airline tell me i can't fly without my passport. Even within the European Union, i ask in
vain, with my photographic Driving Licenece as proof of who i am, with a crime number for my stolem passport, and my passport number. Not a chance.
So i phone the Passport Agnecy, explain the situation, its an emergency, passport stolen in airport, can i get an emergency passport/travel document, NOPE!
Can i get a passport tomorrow so i can still fly out the next day in time for the first show? No sir, it will take 7 days for your new passport. But But But!!!
Surely in this situation, i must be able to get one quicker? No Sir, it will take 7 days. At this point the rest of the band are now checked in and i'm facing
the prospect of either having to stay in London myself and try and sort out a new passport, go home and wait for it to arrive and then fly out as soon as it
does, or go home to Glasgow, go the passport office there and again, wait till it arrives. I feel like greeting.

Just as the band are about to disappear through security, Francis, our manager phones, He's sorted an appointment at the London Passport office for 6.15, i've
got 2 hours to get over there from the airport, pick up 2 passport forms from the Post Office on the way, fill them in, get photos taken and cross my panic
stricken shaking fingers that the good people of the passport office decide our tour is important enough to that i should be able to get a passport first
thing the next day. So Kenny has to stay with me to countersign my forms, and his luggage has already been booked through. So a bagless Kenny and I leg it
through Gatwick, get the train to Victoria, find a Post Office, get the forms, get photos taken, stop for a pasty to sustain us in our hour of need, leg it
round to the Passport Offices, queue up, fill in forms, and wait as the staff there slowly go through the file notes on the case and read through the fax from
Elefant explaining how important it is that I get out to Spain the following day.

After an hour, happy that i have a suficient reason to be allowed an emergency passport, they sign off the case to allow the passport to go to print, only one
slight problem, before it can finally get the go ahead, they have to double check on my file with the Glasgow Passport Office. The Glasgow Office has now shut
for the evening, so they email them asking for my file to be faxed down first thing in the morning. So now i know that i will get a passport the next day, but
have to wait to see if it will come through in time for me to travel for the show. There's only one thing for it. PUB!!

In moments like this, only a bloody big drink will suffice, so Kenny and I retire to the nearest pub for some dinner and several pints of Newcastle Brown Ale,
feeling slightly more relaxed, we return to the hotel to for a little drink of Whisky and watch some League of Gentlemen, slightly banjoed.

The morning rolls around, and a phonecall at 8.53am informs me the passport has gone to pint and will be ready to be picked up at 12.53, in time for the flight
we were re-booked onto but unlikely to give us time to soundcheck. Ever the profesionals, we decide that after the previous day, turning up at the venue and
having to scramble on stage to set up in a rush was no problem in comparison.

We get to Madrid, jump in a taxi, get into the city centre fairly quickly then get stuck in traffic, finally get to the street next to the venue, to find there
is no access to the venue's street. Jump out and make the last stretch of the journey on foot. We arrive outside and a small group of people gathered outside
ask, "are you in camera obscura?", yes we reply, "you better get in, they're waiting for you." Never have we seen more relieved faces. There was still an hour
to doors, so we at least had time to set up our gear and even managed ten minutes of a sound check. Tonight, we'll get to do it properly.

I'm still slightly dazed by the past two days, but all's well that ends well, Tracy told the crowd last night that i had had my identity stolen by a Russian Mafiosa.
Whilst i suspect the truth is not quite so exciting, if the police manage to trace the guy through the pub's CCTV footage, i hope they give him a bloody good shoeing.

Adios Amigos, Gav