'So that's why your hair stands on end, is it?' Howey said to the singer, 'you said it was hair gel.' Three more pints arrived but the drummer was still nervously tapping on the bar with his fingers. Within the hour an electrician had arrived and Nutty's belly gave off a low rumble as the five of them headed back to the cellar. 'You know the rules, mate. No farting in a confined space.' They all laughed loudly, except the drummer, who peered over the banisters, sheepishly. The room was exceptionally warm and Nutty had pulled on his coat, even though it was sunny outside, and the jokes continued. 'But how come it's so warm in here?' said Howey. 'It's usually bloody freezing.' The manager looked at them in disbelief. 'Well, you're right next to the boiler room. Theoretically you should be baked alive. You could fry an egg on the top of that thing.' The sparky checked all the plugs on the equipment, then the wall sockets and finally the light switches, his little red box omitting bizarre noises and flashing intermittently. next »