About six years ago, I bought something online from a guy who worked as crew on the 1982 tour. Enough time has passed that I figure it's OK to post some of the things he told me, so here goes.
There was seldom a dull moment with that bunch of characters. Imagine a group made up of two divorced couples and a total of 6 people (including Curry Grant) who basically didn't like each other but depended on one another for fame and fortune. John, who seldom drew a sober breath, was my good friend in all that. He and I would have a drink together most every show day at my workbox (aka Club 127), just before sound check. I would not ever provide the vodka and tonic, a tacit agreement that kept me out of the line of fire, but each day he would show up with a drink from the dressing room and I would mix one of the same for myself and join him. I never took to Christine and really never got too close. She seemed to be pretty much the embodiment of all that I abhor about the English. Cold fish.
The band hired a group of karate experts for their security. Five mindless thugs. John could never resist ****ing with the security goons. He would occasionally let them lead him up the stairs to the stage, but instead of walking out to his position for the start of the show, he would take a sharp right at the top of the stairs and walk along the edge of the stage with the guitar slung around his neck and his arms outstretched like a tightrope walker. The thugs would be ****ting themselves trying to get into position to catch him if he fell off the stage.
Stevie, the lovable clumsy cow that she is, would fall off the stage almost every time she would reach down to touch someone in the crowd. Lindsey spent most of his time with his head up his ass. Never did like him - way too self absorbed to suit me. Mick is almost too cool and too weird to describe. Him I liked.
I have to end this note. Remind me sometime to tell you about John walking into the door frame, and about Stevie's limo.
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