"I went to this gig, back when I was just turned 18, with my mate john. Coming from Manchester, it was just a short train ride up to Blackpool, so we got there early and spent a long lunch in the pub "preparing" for the gig.
This was in the bad old days when pubs closed for a few hours in the late afternoon, so at closing time we thought we'd walk along the beach and kill a couple of hours before the pubs opened again. but this being the north of England in august there was a bloody freezing cold wind howling in off the Irish sea and it was starting to rain, so we thought we'd try to sneak in the venue and maybe catch the sound-check; it was a Monday or a Tuesday night I think so there was nothing else to do!
We managed to get into the place surprising easily - through the front door, actually. When the afternoon security - one old char lady - asked who we were, we lied "we're with the band" which seemed to satisfy her. So we lurked in the shadows at the back of the hall and were treated to watch new order run through a couple of numbers to sound-check.
Then Hooky spotted us, came down from the stage and wandered over. "Alright lads" he said. "Yeah mate" we replied, feeling quite pleased with ourselves for being in the warm and seeing the band playing. He rapidly switched into arsehole mode - "what the fuck are you doing in here?" he asked, "Get the fuck out". So we told him how we'd come up to Blackpool especially for the gig and it was freezing outside and pissing with rain, to which he sensitively replied "I don't fucking care, now get out before I fucking throw you out".
So out we went, into the cold, to await the gig. I remember it was an ok show, I do remember enjoying Section 25, who I hadn't heard before and were support that night. so at the end of the show John and I realised we'd missed the last train back to Manchester; plus we were skint, and pissed, so we hung around for a while until the roadies started taking the equipment down, and went up and asked a kind-looking roadie if we could hitch a ride if we helped load up the equipment, to which he agreed.
So John and me got a ride home to Manchester, lying on top of the PA in the back of a ramshackle van, sharing cans of lager and smoking dope with a couple of the roadies.
Arriving back in Manchester around 3.30am, the van parked up outside the hacienda, which had only recently opened, and the roadies invited us in for a quick "after work drink". I remember around 7am my mate and I left them to it and emerged, blinking, into the light of a Whitworth street morning........happy days...........g."