May - and the fight - had ended. June found us spending too many hours behind locked doors in a police cell where they'd left us to cool off and consider the enormity of what we had done. The idea was presumably that we'd emerge in a suitably co-operative frame of mind for interrogation.
Because of the numbers involved, there were several people to each cell. Thankfully, Pel and I were together and shared our cell with a couple of our 'minders', Gavin and Steve. Where Edan and the Prof. were we had no idea.
I looked around at my companions. They were a sorry sight and I don't suppose I looked much better. Our borrowed finery was decidedly the worse for wear. There was caked blood over a cut along Pel's left eyebrow, and his shirt was ripped down the sleeve which hung open to reveal a long, jagged gash down his arm that was still sluggishly oozing blood. I thought it ought to have been looked at but no doubt the police were far too busy to deal with such minor problems.
Steve's right eye was completely closed and there was an ugly contusion below the other. Gavin had a bloodied handkerchief knotted round one elbow and a lump the size of a hen's egg rising out of his forehead. My gear was muddied and covered in grass stains from where I had gone my length, and several bits of me ached dully. It was all very depressing.
We exchanged tales. Pel had been picked up shortly after Edan. He'd seen him hustled into police van with several other offenders from both sides, and driven off. A W.P.C. had offered to dress Pel's arm, but the sap had declined. I didn't think it was the right time for the stiff upper lip but Pel was far too proud to admit that he could use help - ever.
Gavin and Steve reckoned that Eddy had indeed rounded up reinforcements. They estimated that the opposition must've numbered around twenty, against eight of them plus the rest of us. Which made us wonder what had become of Jerry and his friends. Apparently, when last seen, Jerry had been in the thick of it, still filming! He must've been ever shorter on the marbles front than Pel.
Despite the numerical disadvantage, the 'good guys' had - slowly - been getting on top of the situation when the police had waded in with all guns blazing as you might say. Steve's black eye and the lump on Gavin's head had nothing to do with Eddy's mob.
Surprisingly, they bore no malice against those responsible. The police had had to attract their attention somehow and if they hadn't, chances were that they'd have been flattened themselves. Both the heavies thanked us for a grand evening's entertainment, which they'd both enjoyed immensely.
I gazed at them in wonder. More missing marbles! I mean, I enjoy a good scrap, same as the next guy, but this had been serious mayhem. We're talking possible G.B.H. here. As it happened, there was only one major casualty. Eddy. He'd charged out into the path of an oncoming car - the first police car to arrive in fact - as he was running away... Maliciously, we enjoyed the irony of the situation - I think the word is 'Schadenfreude.'
We were taken individually for questioning and told it as it was. How else? The fight had not been of our making nor had we wanted it. We were charged with causing an affray, or some such, and let out on bail.
Edan had put up the money earlier, which was just as well, or we poor impoverished students would still have been rotting in there. He was waiting for us in the foyer, wearing an insouciant grin and a three piece pin-striped suit. Pel blinked at this suave stranger.
"How typical of you to fall on your feet," I commented, as we went out to the Jag.
"Fall on my feet nothing," he responded indignantly. "I've been working my ass off all night for you guys while you've been lounging at your ease in a nice cosy police cell."
We began to disabuse his mind of the idea that police cells are neither nice nor cosy, but he stopped us. "You're not alone in your sufferings. I was hauled off there, too, remember? Talking of sufferings, we'll stop by the hospital on the way home. You need stitches in that."
"No I don't. It'll be fine."
"Ah, I see," Edan responded knowingly. "There's no need to worry, Pel. I'm sure some kind-hearted nurse will give you an anaesthetic if you really can't stand the pain."
Naturally, Pel rose to the bait, until he noticed the expression on my face. I tried to hold in the laughter, but failed. We went to the hospital and Pel had even more opportunity to demonstrate his courage. He had an anti-tetanus jab as well.
While we loitered in casualty, Edan filled us in with more details of the previous night. Mr. Dodds, alerted to the fracas outside by Angela and the Prof., had very kindly called in the 'cavalry.'
He was much distressed to find that we had all been rounded up willy-nilly, regardless of the reason for our involvement. Bless him, he'd got on his bike and ridden over to the police station to try and sort out the mess. It was through his intervention that Edan had been released.
Edan himself was pretty sanguine in the hope that all charges would be dropped against the rest of us, being 'more sinned against than sinning.' The Prof. had avoided incarceration by remaining in the hall with Angela throughout the hostilities.
He'd subsequently contributed his mite to the law-breaking activities of the evening by driving Angela home. Then, having loaded up all our equipment with the help of Jerry and co. - they'd also somehow evaded capture - he'd driven the van back to our home too. And he hasn't even got a licence! There is much more to the Prof. than meets the eye...
We were further amazed to find that we'd made the daily papers. Pel and I were far from happy with the coverage. The (small) headlines were characterized by almost total inaccuracy, and ran along the lines of:
RIOTERS WRECK CHURCH
ONE DEAD, TWENTY INJURED IN CHURCH BRAWL
BLACK MASS IN GRAVEYARD - 13 Arrested
GAY GUERILLAS IN GRAVEYARD GANG-FIGHT - National Front Involved?
LIGHTNING STRIKES CHURCH - BELL DAMAGED.
We lamented the bad press, but Edan said, "There is no such thing as bad publicity - there is just publicity. The only bad thing about it is that they haven't mentioned 'Enchanter' - or any of us - by name."
More was to come. Jerry, with an eye to the main chance, had been making his bid for a career as a video journalist. That evening, we made the television news too, as the report was accompanied by 'amateur video' film of the affair. 'Amateur?' Move over Quentin Tarentino! Jerry's coverage made 'From Dusk Till Dawn' look like a custard pie fight.
I wasn't too sure about Edan's philosophy on publicity though when I saw splendid coverage of myself clubbing Pel's attacker. I mean, my gear was pretty distinctive and stood out wonderfully in the gloom. There was no way I'd be able to talk my way out of that one, if and when it got to court.
On the plus side, Jerry had included excellent views of our banner with "Enchanter" emblazoned on it. Also on the plus side, Jerry was so delighted with his own little triumph, that he offered us a discount on our promo vid.
We'd watched the news round at Edan's flat, which, like our own, was in a converted Edwardian house. It was the first time we had been there. He had the ground floor and the basement. Although it was June, there was a log fire blazing away on the hearth. I remembered then, that he was used to living abroad. Presumably he felt a chill in the evenings as those from tropical climes often do in England.
The sitting room was stylishly decorated with foreign wall-hangings and other souvenirs of distant countries. Some, I was amused to note, wouldn't have looked out of place in a "Hammer" horror set, like the shrunken heads, which turned out to be genuine, (Ugh!) and the silver (?) candelabra with the black candles.
Edan watched my gaze and said, "Well, why not? We're going for the Black Magic image, aren't we? And what's a little voodoo between friends?"
Sometimes, I had my doubts about that guy... We were watching that news broadcast because we knew - or were fairly certain - that we'd be on it. As interested parties, Jerry had notified us well in advance.
Edan had been round to Jerry's like a shot when he heard about his coup, and came over all mysterious again when he returned, much to Pel's exasperation.
"'Strike while the iron is hot'," was all he would say.
I wished he would give over talking in quotes.
On Monday morning, with our costumes miraculously restored and valeted by Valentine, we appeared on breakfast T.V., both talking and singing.
Edan is a natural media personality. Having charmed the hostess, he went on to sing 'I'll Put a Spell on You' as if solely for her, and looking at her all the while in a way which she said afterwards sent goose-bumps all down her spine. By evening we had a recording contract.
It is ironic that after all our efforts towards marketing ourselves - promo video, demo CD, photo file etc. - our big break should have come from a punch-up in a churchyard.
"The work we did wasn't wasted, though," Edan remarked over coffee. "If we hadn't gone through all that, we wouldn't have been anywhere near the church. Most of what we did will be useable somehow or other anyway, if only for its historic value - 'before they were famous . . . ' "
The Prof. looked sort of dreamy. "I wouldn't have met Angela, either."
"Oh, forget Angela. From now on, you'll have all the girls you could wish for climbing all over you."
"I only want one," the Prof. informed him with lofty dignity.
Edan laughed salaciously. "You'll soon learn, moonling," he said and got a very stony look in return.
We now found that our life-style had altered dramatically. We were in the biz. - show business, that is. The Prof.'s parents insisted that finish his exams, so we had to work round that. It seemed like a waste of time to me. Here we were on the brink of fame and fortune and all things good, and he sits his A-levels! I ask you.
I can't imagine when he found the time to revise anyway. The education system and I called it quits right then and there, but then, with my father out of the country and mother too busy socializing to pay much attention to her children's activities, I wasn't going to come in for much hassle.
We had an advance of £20k, which we thought was great, until Edan refused to let us get our grubby little mitts on it. The argument which followed bordered on the cataclysmic, but Edan was adamant.
"It may seem like a lot of money now," Edan explained when Pel had calmed down, "but it's peanuts compared with what you'll have to squander in a few months time. I know you. Get your hands on five gees and you'd go swanning off on holiday or get pissed out of your skull, and that's not a lot of use to anybody. We've got work to do, and we're probably going to need that money, which is officially the property of the band, not five grand each."
And that was that. In the next couple of weeks, we more or less repeated what we'd done already. It was decided, with our record company, that we should put out "Magic in the Air" with an extended remix and "I'll Put a Spell on You" as a C.D. single. Striking while the iron was still fairly hot?
They liked the idea for the video, but wanted it re-working professionally. After that, they wanted us to concentrate on an album. It was then that we appreciated Edan's insisting that we continue with our song-writing. We had quite a sheaf of songs ready to work on by then. Edan had been quite right. It would have been a real pain if we'd had to start thinking about new numbers at that point.
It was also better to have had Edan as our slave-driver than the remote fat cats of the record company with their fat cigars and an eye on their profits. Better the Devil you know, as they say...
The release of the single was optimistically planned for the end of June and was to be launched with a mega-party in one of London's top night spots, at which we were to perform half a dozen numbers.
We expected to see faces we recognised from the music world, but, while there were a few familiar faces, the majority of the guests were obviously there for reasons other than the usual ones of getting well lubricated and generally having a great time.
There was more than a smattering of pin-striped suits, which tended to put a damper on things. Edan said this was probably a good idea, since we were being looked over and it would be as well to show that we meant business, whatever excesses we got up to later.
There were more that a few people wielding cameras and Dictaphones and such like. They buzzed round us like flies round a cow-pat, though mostly round Edan. Like I said, he's a natural media personality. The rest of us circulated and smiled a lot, aware that this was something of a shop window for us.
Half way through the evening, Edan said, "There's someone here you should meet," and he pointed out one of the pin-striped suited gentlemen. He had receding hair, a hooked nose and an air of affluence. The affluence hadn't expanded his waistline, however, so he was probably still in his twenties though he looked older.
"Looks rich and Jewish," I commented.
"You're half right," he responded. "His name's Louis Kellermann. He's half Jewish and he's not as rich as he wants to be. Which is why I've engaged him as our manager. His success will depend on our success, so he will work long and hard to get us the best deals." He laughed cynically. "He'd sell his granny to the Devil if the Devil would pay his price."
"How do you know he won't rip us off?"
"Because if there's just so much as one brass farthing goes missing, Hanif Baqir will find it, and the golden goose will fly away. The loss will far exceed the short-term gain so he will play strictly by the rules."
"Hang on. Who's Hanif Whatsit?"
"Hanif Baqir. He's our accountant. His family originally came from Syria"
"You have been busy on our behalf, haven't you?" I said crossly.
"Oh, don't you start," he replied in exasperation. "Pel's bad enough when he gets a bee in his bonnet."
"Well, and are you surprised? It would have been nice if you'd had the fucking courtesy to mention it to us before you took it upon yourself to hire these guys. This isn't the bloody Edan Lamfada show, you know. We're a foursome, in case you'd forgotten."
"I take it you've forgotten, Alex, that I gave Pel the opportunity to find us a manager about a month ago, and that he didn't take me up it. In fact, if you give yourself the trouble of thinking back that far, you might remember - as it was a rare admission from him - that he even suggested I might have more success in that direction than he would. No?"
I bit my lip. I had forgotten, but wasn't in a mood to back down over what I saw as his high-handedness. "You could still have mentioned what you were planning before you went ahead and did it - yet again!"
"O.K.," he continued, "you can sort me out later, you and Pel both, but in the meantime, I suggest we put up a united front."
"How, when you keep going behind our fucking backs?" I demanded. I was fairly fuming about it by now. Being wrong-footed over who'd been designated manager-finder in no way improved my temper.
"I am not going to argue about it in public. However, if you really feel so strongly, I'll introduce you to Louis now, then you can fire him and find us a better manager."
Why can I never win against Edan? Not only can he out-manoeuvre us in any argument, but he also manages to make us sound like petulant and ungrateful schoolboys if we raise objections to what he does. The trouble is he's almost invariably in the right. He seems to have an eye for the right people - Hell, he picked us, didn't he?
He took me over to meet Louis, but I decided not to follow his suggestion. Louis was very pleasant and soft-spoken. There was nothing about him that suggested an unconscionable bargaining ability or a driving ambition to equal to our own.
The Prof. had already been introduced. How very astute of Edan to leave Pel to the last, after he had swung the rest of us over to his side.
I was a little worried, nonetheless. I had come pretty close to laying one on Lamfada in the heat of the moment. I wouldn't have, as Edan probably guessed. There is something rather inhibiting about a collection of stuffed shirts.
Pel is less easily inhibited, however, and hates to be confronted by a fait accompli at the best of times. Rather to my surprise, nothing untoward occurred during the evening. I found out later, much to my discomfort, that Edan had chickened out...
We were on our way home after the "do" and had just dropped off the Prof. Edan had remained behind chatting to a couple of the stuffed shirts. Not knowing of Pel's ignorance about our new employees, I remarked casually that it was probably as well that Edan had sorted out the management side of things since we hadn't really given it much thought ourselves.
"What?" he bellowed as the van skidded to a halt amid a cloud of burning rubber.
I quailed. Pel wasn't known for taking his anger out on innocent bystanders - or sitters - but there's a first time for every thing, and I wasn't sure how "innocent" he would consider me when I was in the know and he wasn't.
I hastened to assure him that I'd been under the impression that Edan had already introduced him to Louis. He had, but hadn't mentioned the new relationship. Baulked of legitimate prey, Pel took off, leaving more rubber on the road. I thought I'd better make a clear breast of it and asked, uneasily, if Edan had mentioned Hanif Baqir at all. He hadn't.
Pel asked, suspiciously, why I thought he might have.
"Because," I replied, taking the bull by the horns, "he's our new accountant."
There was a distinct sense of déjà vu as the van screeched to a halt again, bringing my nose within half a centimetre of the windscreen. Thankfully, the seat-belt survived its second test of the night.
"For Christ's sake, Pel," I protested, "leave some rubber on the tyres!"
He thrust his face as close to mine as the windscreen had recently been. "Is there anything else I should know?" he demanded in a voice in which the wrath was barely controlled.
"Not so far as I'm aware," I replied placatingly. We weren't far from home by now, for which I was profoundly thankful. So, I should think, was the van, as the blistering tirade which followed was accompanied by a painful grinding of the gears.
The diatribe continued after we reached our flat, by which time, I was heartily sick of hearing about it.
"Hell's teeth, Pel, will you give it a rest?" I begged. "I wasn't any happier than you when I first heard about it, and I'm even less happy about being lumbered with breaking it to you - though I can flaming well see why I was..."
Pel was about to continue when he suddenly saw it from my point of view. Thereafter, we spent a happy half hour in the character assassination of our lead singer.
The following morning - just - Pel was all set for going round to Edan's flat and sorting him out. I dissuaded him, but reluctantly. I had a score to settle there myself. Anyway, in the cold light of - midday, I talked Pel into acceptance of the inevitable. He still wasn't happy. Neither was I come to that. Lamfada always seemed to be one step ahead.
Looked at objectively, I supposed this is a good thing. Even so, it's distinctly unnerving having your life run for you. I gave it some thought. Perhaps I should have done so sooner, then, maybe, he wouldn't have been able to pre-empt us quite so easily.
"I've thought of a way we could get our own back," I announced, "Well, make a point anyway."
Pel's eye's lit up. "Give," he ordered.
My idea gained his full approval, so we drove round to the Prof.'s to canvass his opinion too. We didn't want to be totally clandestine about it. Hell, that was the kind of behaviour we were objecting to ourselves. Prof. joined with us in our little enterprise and even agreed to take a hand in it himself.
By the time he had to head for school for yet another exam., it was done, and we were on our way to Edan's flat with the good news. We were feeling comfortably smug. We knocked on the door but there was no response. I tried the door. It was unlocked, so we shouted "Hello," and went in.
Of Edan there was no sign. A roaring fire blazed on the hearth and curled up in front of it on a sheepskin rug was the most enormous black cat I'd ever seen.
It suddenly became aware that it was no longer the sole occupier of the room, regarding us with a pair of baleful green eyes. It came gracefully to its feet, its long fur standing on end effectively doubling its apparent size, then it opened its mouth, showing a fearsome array of teeth and hissed malevolently at us.
I was transfixed, fully expecting it to spring at me, when it abruptly turned away and stalked out, tail twitching vigorously. Pel and I exchanged startled glances. Pel was the first to find his voice.
"I didn't know he had a cat," he whispered.
"That was some cat," I responded softly, when Edan suddenly appeared, yawning. "Hi," I said, without my usual bounce.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
I didn't reply immediately. I'd almost forgotten what we'd come for, and was looking for the right words.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue, Alex?"
I laughed unsteadily. "Something like that I agreed. It's not difficult with a cat like yours," I joked.
"Yes. The big black thing we disturbed when we arrived."
"Oh, yes - Lucifer." He smiled as if at some private joke. "He doesn't like being disturbed. Neither do I," he added, rather harshly.
"You should lock your door then," I told him.
He raised one eyebrow. "Yes, I'll do that."
"Lucifer," Pel mused. "An appropriate name, if you don't mind my saying so?"
"It's not really very appropriate. Lucifer was the 'Son of the Morning,' wasn't he?" I demurred.
"Yes," Edan agreed. "He was expelled from Heaven for the sin of pride," he went on a little wistfully, "because he considered himself God's equal. He's been getting a bad press ever since, but then, look Who's written all the books..."
"Good Lord, you two thinking of joining the God Squad?" Pel demanded in disgust. "I wish you'd never mentioned the damned animal!"
"Damned indeed," agreed its owner, ironically, "but you didn't come here to discuss the cat, did you?"
"Actually, we've got some good news for you," Pel informed him brightly.
"Yeah. We've hired us a fan club secretary," he announced triumphantly.
Pel looked completely taken aback, and I should think my face mirrored his expression.
"Good? Is that all you've got to say?"
Edan looked blank. "Well - congratulations then. What do you want me to do? Open a bottle of champagne?"
"You mean, you're not mad?" I asked.
"No. Why should I be? It's one less thing for me to think about."
He did it again, didn't he? Made us look like petulant schoolboys again...
"Angela?" he enquired.
"Yes. How did you guess?"
"You are so transparent. I don't suppose you've found her an office too?" He refrained from looking self-satisfied at having put us back in our place, which must have taken a fair degree of self control.
"What does she need an office for?" Pel asked innocently. "She can run it from home, can't she?"
"Well, if you think her parents will appreciate the antics of our fans trying to track us down, besieging the house, trampling over the garden..."
"Oh. Do you think they would?"
Edan tapped Pel's skull. "Knock, knock - anyone there? Welcome to the real world. Now, would you like to look around for suitable premises? Or would you rather leave it to me?" he asked, twisting the knife.
"Er - we'll find somewhere," I affirmed resignedly.
"Thank you," he replied graciously. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my bed."
"That didn't go quite as I'd planned," I observed wryly. "Perhaps we really are being a bit ridiculous?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"Thing is we've been together for so many years now, it's a little difficult to adjust."
"No, it can't be that. The Prof. fitted in O.K."
"Hm, he's quite a lot younger than us, though." I considered it. "Perhaps that's the key. Edan's older - more experienced. He tends to act like a father figure at times, and I suppose it's triggering the rebellion machine that we missed with our own parents, what with them not being around much. Make sense?"
"Suppose. I can't imagine Edan as a real father though, can you?"
I couldn't, and we laughed again, as we set off on our search for an office for Angela.
It proved quite an effort, and made us regret our previous ingratitude. We were being well served for our awkwardness. We could almost feel Edan watching us throughout our investigations and thoroughly enjoying our difficulties.
Eventually, several days later, we managed to find a place that fulfilled most of the criteria we had set down. Well, it was far enough from all our homes, yet not too far for Angela to travel, and with convenient public transport if required. It was on the first floor above a newsagent's shop, with kitchen facilities and a good view up and down the road. It was also more expensive than we bargained for, but then, such things nearly always are.
We took it and hoped we hadn't overlooked anything. It would have been very galling to have Lamfada point out some obvious flaw that we'd missed, and the prospect made us feel all the more contrite.
Happily, it met with both his approval and Angela's. Like the Prof., she was up to her neck in exams, but we didn't anticipate any pressing need of her services until the exam season had finished. In the meantime, Pel and I said we'ld see about turning this one-time store-room into something more like an office.
"At the risk of interfering, may I offer the services of some friends of mine who deal in office equipment and furnishings." Edan said, when he heard of our noble intentions. "We really don't have the time to do the job ourselves, you know. We're stars now, don't forget."
We took him up on his offer with as much alacrity as dignity would allow, and that was the end of our bid for independence. Almost. I suggested that it would be nice to hire our cell-mates as our official security staff, if they were interested.
"They are, and I already have," Edan said with great temerity.
There was a lo-ong silence as Pel and I eyed each other expressionlessly. Then we cracked out laughing. Edan joined in, a little uncertainly, a couple of seconds later.
During the week, when we weren't office hunting, we read the music press quite assiduously. A couple of papers carried a short revue of "Magic in the Air", and one commented on our appearance at the release party. These were favourable at least.
We were a bit disappointed by the lack of coverage generally, although I have noticed that several of the weekly magazines frequently don't print their reviews until they see which way the wind blows - like the record is already in the top ten and rising - and they still get their forecasts wrong!
We also kept an ear on various radio stations, but didn't hear ourselves. Perhaps we hadn't made it on to the play-lists. It was a depressing thought. We tuned in to a "Top 40" programme on Sunday. It had just started and they were playing our song. We'd made it in at number thirty-nine in our first week.
The following week, we definitely made the play lists, and the press began to take greater interest. We'd played several night-clubs on the outskirts of town, and one as support in the city itself.
This latter was reviewed in the Heavy Metal press, though, to Pel's annoyance, we found ourselves described as "Soft Metal". He showed signs of rebelling - talked of "getting back to our roots".
I said, "We can hit them with the heavier stuff on the album, but if we want fame and fortune, we can't be too heavy with the singles. Have you heard Slayer or Megadeth in the top forty? And we've made it there in a week."
"Motorhead did. 'Maiden did - even Whitesnake did," he objected.
"Sure, but not to number one..."
"Yes - years ago, and what have they done since? I don't want to be a 'one hit wonder'. Europe weren't all that heavy either."
"At least they had a number one hit."
"Well, so might we. Give it time," I advised. "If 'Magic' doesn't make it, there's still plenty of time to think about changing our direction."
"We've already changed direction once, in case you hadn't noticed. That's what I'm not happy about."
"You'll change your tune when the money rolls in," I assured him.
"When..." He sounded unconvinced.
It was round about this time that we started to be approached for interviews and photo calls, mostly by the less serious publications in for a quick kill. For the photo sessions, we stuck with our original outfits, which we'd now bought from Valentine, as we figured people might remember them from Jerry's news video. They did.
We had a lot of questions about that evening, but felt obliged not to say anything in case it was "sub judice", or would prejudice our hearing, or some such thing.
Once we'd cleared that hurdle, we were into all the usual "Star Fact File"-type questions, like when our birthdays were, (Edan's was on December 22nd., which led to a few private jokes later about the Old Goat'!), who our favourite film stars were, what our favourite food was, (we were cautious on that one, in view of fans' desire to swamp you with your favourite goodies - or throw them at you on stage!) and so on. After the first three or four, it all began to get rather tedious. Edan said that was the price we had to pay.
Another price to pay was the tendency of the press to fill in the blanks' in anything we said - as in, make it up as you go along. Thinking back, wasn't that why Queen stopped giving press interviews?
And the things they wrote! Pel had already fathered several children and was
the subject of a paternity suit filed by some American
The Prof.'s mother had been abandoned by his father and had lived on benefits ever since which would have surprised her greatly if she ever stooped to reading the tabloids. Likewise his father.
My father was abroad, not as a minor member of the diplomatic corps, but as a fugitive from justice on a charge of gun-running in Iraq! Edan, with his satanic eyebrows, was cast as - you guessed it - Satan, straight out of Hell, but that was the Sunday Sport.
He laughed and said, "Well, they'd better watch their steps then."
Curiously enough, a couple of days later, the editor's office was quite seriously damaged by fire. Edan found that even funnier.
Whether as a result of such journalistic fancies or not, Edan's next project was for us to write out our own biographies, expanding the work we'd done for our portfolio. Angela was then to compile them, together with some of the publicity photos from Rochester, in a fanzine as part of an introductory pack for fan club members.
We'd already had a number of enquiries, and those increased as we went up the charts - not dramatically, but slowly and steadily. Edan had supplied Angela with a brand new state-of-the-art computer he'd procured from a friend who owed him a favour. Was there no end to all these useful friends?
Once that was out of the way, Edan stuck us with another little chore. Louis Kellermann had already begun to earn his crust. He'd booked us a support spot with - yeugh! - 'The Street Boiz', the current No. 1 'boy band', on a tour of Britain. Their planned support had cancelled at rather short notice leaving them with a hole to fill, starting on Wednesday 25th. July.
The planned itinerary began at Bournemouth Winter Gardens then went to Newcastle City Hall on the 27th., Manchester Apollo on the 28th., Taunton Hall on the 30th., Glasgow Apollo on the 1st. August, Aberdeen Capitol on the 2nd., Dundee Caird Hall on the 3rd., Edinburgh Playhouse Theatre on the 4th., Paignton Festival Hall on Wednesday 8th., Penzance Winter Gardens on the 9th., Plymouth Guildhall on the 10th., Bristol Colston Hall on the 11th., Butlins, Skegness on the 14th., Blackpool Winter Gardens on the 15th., finishing at Hammy-O, as it then was, on the 16th and 17th.
So - now we needed merchandizing...
Part 3 updated 14 MAY 2009
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