Riders On The Storm - Manchester Apollo

Riders On The Storm - Manchester Apollo, January 2007

When are the Doors not the Doors, when they are Riders On The Storm, this being due to some injunction or something.

But Jim is dead you may proclaim, yes I know but Ian Astbury has donned the leather jacket and shades, and taken over the vocals. Boy does he do it well.

Along with original members, Robbie Krieger and Ray Manzerak, they took to the stage in Manchester and rocked the Apollo.

Mostly the 'hits' are played, but a few obscure fan favorites are included. Astbury does not attempt to be Morrison, and simply slips to the rear of the stage in between songs, thus allowing those who were there to tell us about being there.

That being said, there are a few moments when you could almost believe Astbury was Morrison, what with his vocal stylings and physical presence. Jim has left the building, but the Doors are still open.

Ojos De Brujo - Barcelona

Ojos De Brujo - Barcelona, December 22nd, 2006

Was spending christmas in Spain with Michelle this year, and for a treat, she had bought tickets to see ODB. To be honest,
I had a CD, but had only listened to it a couple of times, oh how that would change.

A dazzling fusion of flamenco, asian, dance, techno produced two hours of incredible musicianship from incredible musicians. The concert was being filmed and so a video projection filled the back wall, thus enabling us to see just how incredible the incredible musicians actually are.

Now it is many months later and the concert has been released on DVD. Guess what, if you freeze the playback at the correct moment you can just make me and Michelle out, in the audience.

Damned - Manchester Academy

Damned - Manchester Academy, December 9th 2006

The Damned may not be the greatest band in the world, or the best musicians, but boy could they write a good tune or two. So here we are again at the Manchester Academy to see this band perform but a small selection of fine tunes they have entertained us for many a year.

Last time we saw them they were on the 25th year Machine Gun Etiquette tour, so they were promoting that, but this time nothing to promote, just a bunch of aging punks playing to an audience of aging punks.

Included amongst the classics were Alone Again Or, General and Rabid, all of which I never expected to gear live. As usual the band is on form and the pantomime banter punctuates the set list with the obligiatory 'Sensibles a wanker' being chanted whenever possible.

The Damned never fail in their ability to entertain. They may not be the best band in the world (possibly in my top 10), but for sheer entertainment, they are up there with the best of them.

NDR Big Band

NDR big band

manchester november 22nd 2006

Towards the end of Frank Zappa's momentous life & career his touring band began to resemble the 'big band' format. So it was no stretch of the imagination in predicting what format tonights even would take.

So when a middle aged jazz warbling warbler began a warbling, I was a little warbled myself, but not in a good way. These were not Zappa tunes being big banded into warbleville, but contempary pop tunes. Was this the right room, had I paid for 5 minutes or the full half hour.

This big band strangeness ended with a warbleful of Sting's 'Moon over bourbon street' and the reign of the warble queen was over, long live the king.

This prompted a brief intermission, thus giving us time to ponder what had transgressed & what was to be.

Fortunately the second half was to be warble free, and was to be as advertised, Zappa, Zappa and more Zappa. Some might say this is yet another tribute band, but this is so much more. Interpretation & imagination seperate this from your standard soundalike tribute band. This is tribute with a diamond encrusted T, and extra gold stars for effort.

And so it began, from 'peaches' to 'black napkins', 'lets make the water turn black' to 'g spot tornado', all exhibiting such proficiency, even passing cyclists would qualify. If tonight was a long playing record, you would have no need for a hungarian phrasebook to tell you of its condition, pristine scratch free, and willing to hold it against your body.

Nods of appreciation from fellow band members follow solo musical excellence, followed in turn by the slapping sound of paired fleshy extremities. This is pure Zappa, and hurrah.

Anderson & Wakeman

anderson & wakeman

manchester opera house 30th october 2006

I feel a little underdressed considering the surroundings, as this is an opera house, Manchester Opera House to be precise. A certain decorum must be observed, a reverence dictated by the oppulent facade. Here there are boards that have been tread, whats that I hear, he's behind you, oh shit. Pantomimes and dodgy musicals are on the bill, fortunately, not tonight. Prog maestro's Jon Anderson & Rick Wakeman age going to tease us with acoustic renditions os classic Yes, interspaced with new offerings written by just the two of them.

Mr Andersons has wifely support from Mrs Anderson sitting inthe balcony to the side of the stage, so at moments of mutual secrecy, he would gaze up to her, blowing kisses, waving of arms, and generaly saying hello.

Mr Wakeman has no support apart from his piano stool upon which he sits. Moments of verbal amusement eminate from his section of the stage. A swapping of tales from duo to audience give rise to titters and guffaws, depending upon severity of incident being recanted. Usually of Mr wakemans alcoholic past.

Mr A accopanies Mr W on acoustic guitar, and yes surprisingly it is plugged in ans amplified to a decent level. Reworkings of familiarity are interspersed with smatterings of new stuff, written especially the duo-ic concept. Mr W tinkles ivories like an ivory tinkler tinkleing Yes tunes, which of itself is self evident, for that is what we expect to hear.

Halfway through, just after the intermission Mr A takes up the stool and begins his own tinkleing, much to the amazement of the seated audience. Mr W enters the stage, places are traded, and Mr W gives us reditions of familiar nursery rhymes in the stylings of classical composers, and ends his solo spot with a highly subjective yet recognisable version of Eleanor Rigby. Before Mr A returns to his familiar spot, Mr W tells a few jokes and the evenings entertainment is allowed to continue.

As before is what is after, remarkable renditions of remarkable renditions, expert performances, considering how long they must have been playing some of these songs, to know them backwards is an understatement, but sometimes as Mr W was to quip,

"I didn't play on that one"

Off The Wall - Blackburn KGH

off the wall

KGH blackburn 15th september 2006

My experiences with tribute bands have been mixed at best, for the whole idea leaves me feeling a little soiled, don't get me wrong, i have nothing against tribute bands, its just the fact that i just couldn't do it myself. That being said tonights tribute band attempt the emulate one of the greats, Pink Floyd.

Fortunately I have been informed that this band are up to the task, and have a light show to match. The venue is appropriately decked out, banked seating have been errected to provide an optimum viewing position.

Over the speakers it is announced that the performance will start in 5 minutes, of coures those needing a state of conciousness alteration pay no heed to what has just been said and stay in the bar. So when the first notes of Shine On You Crazy Diamond a frantic dash eminates from the bars and seats must be occupied.

Images of Syd Barret are projected on the circular screen at the rear of the stage, as without him, none of this could ever have existed. Along with a brief few images of Syd projected during Wish You Were Here, this is the only reference to this madcap genius. On previous occasions, the band had performed such classics as Arnold Layne and See Emily Play, but not tonight.

Classics are played and enjoyed, Welcome To The Machine and Have A Cigar, to Sheep and Learning To Fly, with most of Dark Side Of The Moon thrown in for good measure, even a track from Division Bell is let loose on a most appreciative audience. As this is going to be a long set, it has to be split into 2, this gives us time to replenish those parts that need it,

The intermission allows the audience to aquaint itself with itself and to see what cross section has ventured out tonight.From the middle aged die-hards to teen metal heads, all are here, even some pree teens, maybe it was cheaper to buy a ticket for their children than to get a babysitter for the evening, but it looked like they were enjoying the single occular device given to us. Its at events like these that brings out aquaintances that you only see at events like these, its always good to catch up like this. So on with the show.

Of course those in need of an altered state of conciousness slowly amble their way back to seats during the first song, but hey ho.


The second half, that being the one that follows the first is as stupendous as the first, sublime renditions of Floyd classics whip up the crowd, maybe substances have some bearing of the participation of audience based whooping. A couple of frommage based food product hand clapping incidents have the required cringe factor, but are soon forgotten when Off The Wall begin The Great Gig In The Sky.

Never before have so many open mouths been seen in King George Hall, the female guitarist has a voice, I really mean a voice. I personally have only heard this vocal sung as well once before, and that is the original. A collective raising of the hairs on the back of the neck with shivers down the spine marks the Van Der Graff Generator moment, and the crowd reciprocate with raptuous applause.

Throughout both sets projections illuminate and educate, visuals of both digital and actual beings flicker upon the circular screen. George Bush and Robert Mugabe are the idiots on the grass, Hitler makes a brief appearance, along with the Wizard Of Oz, all of which raises a smile, a nod and a wink. Quite some considerable time and effort have been spent producing such a superlative performance, but all things have an end, and this is it.

All the musicians have been given time the the proverbial light that spots, showing that time and effort pays off dividends, and being a Pink Floyd tribute band is a proud badge to wear. The show ends with a huge projection of a glittering disco ball, rotating to the last notes from Comfortably Numb, silouetted against this the saxaphone player tootles like a Lisa Simpson possessed, its time to go now, thank you and goodnight.

Frank Sidebottom - North Bar, Blackburn

frank sidebottom

north bar blackburn 31st august


Sometimes as you get older, things change, or you view things in a different way from how you did 10 years ago. This thought passed through my mind one night as I drank a pint of Guiness not too far from where I am right now. Pondering how I would react to witnessing the one, the only Frank Sidebottom later this evening. As a regular visitor to Blackburn in the past, Frank Sidebottoms Timperly Lectures were something to look forward to in the cold winter months of the mid 90's.

This is now 2006, we are older, but is Frank? A man who performs in a large papier mache head, pretending to be a superstar, speaking as though wearing a clothes peg on his nose (his real one, not the hand painted pretend one), and singing familiar songs but with reworked lyrics. An act full of in jokes and ridiculous routines, an act so strange it is almost impossible to explain, you have to see it to believe it.

That brings us to a wet Thursday evening on the last day of August, cramed into the North Bar Blackburn. In here there are some real die-hard fans, I do enjoy, or rather enjoyed Frank in the past, but how am I going to react tonight. The answer is really quite simple, one word, fantastic. Still the same old Frank, with Little Frank, and the silly in jokes still amuse and bemuse. His head is still large and made of papier mache, Little Frank is still of cardboard, and guess who's been on Match Of The Day, he has in his big shorts.

A constant factor with the sucess of Franks act in an interaction with the audience. You are expected to play along with and experience the strange world in which he inhabits, to become the 10 year old child again, living in a very special fantastic world, where cardboard figures take on strange personas and everything has a fantastic quality.

To the unintiated, this may seem like some strange ritual, grown men singing along gleefully to a man in a large head, women screaming at his as though he is a greek adonis sex symbol, but to those in the know, those of us who have followed this bizarre cult for many years, it is entertainment at its silly best.

Many costume changes punctuate the act, from his straight suit to Father Christmas, then later onto his classic football kit, and finishing the preceedings with the addition of the obligatory Freddy Mercury moustache. Is this the real life or is it just Timperly.

No pyrotechics, no digital effects, no smoke or mirrors, for what you see is what you get. A man in a suit with a rather large head, singing increasingly daft songs in a daft voice. Blimey, lets just hope his mum doesn't find out.

Big Green Gathering

big green gathering

august 2006

This year there was no Shambala Festival, but the desire to pitch tent and drink Chai was too strong to ignore so an alternative festival was required to sate our thirst. Many are on offer, but how do you select one from the many, unless you have a specific criteria. The choice was reduced somewhat by others wanting to attend at the same time, so co-ordinating time schedules became paramount. Two made the shortlist, but only one can be attended, and the winner was 'The Big Green Gathering'. I know people who have attended the northern version of this festival, and have had a great time, but to visit the big one would be different, for one thing, it would be down south.

This year transport would be relatively simple, as other northerners are to be attending, they who attended Shambala for the first time last year, and are wanting to repeat the experience. Also an offer of a lift has been made and accepted, so i will be travelling with Jill, Carl and Lily. Also attending would be friends from Cornwall, those being Pla, Kirsty, Freya & Willow, and travelling from Yorkshire would be Chris & Francis.

The journey down was quick and painless, and a rendezvous arranged at services to accertain a suitable route to the festival. After a short wandering down tight country lanes our goal was in sight. Large fields beckoned us with waiting carparks, in which we could secure a spot and unload our equipment. As with all festivals, camping is positioned away from our vehicles so all our goodies must be moved by hand, or by any available means. Here horse power has been laid on, and horse drawn carts transport our bits to camping areas, basic but effective, this is a green festival after all.

Finding a large enough spot to accomodate our tents provided a slight obstac le as many weary travellers had already made camp, and space was rather limited, but space was found and the pegging began. Soon our camp began to take shape and the rest of our belongings retrieved from the cars, transported on backs and bike powered rickshaw type arrangement. We are here and ready to begin.

Like Glastonbury, this festival is spread over many fields, themed to accomodate differing tastes and desires. The Campaign field had stalls dedicated to informing people of differing ideologies from conspiracy theories to nuclear disarmament, and solar powered showers to running your car on vegetable oil. The family field had a funfair at one end, a huge open area in the middle for daily events, and a pub at the other for their parents who need beverages of an organically intoxicating format. If arts & crafts float your coracle, then the craft field would be the obvious location in which to exercise your facination. Chipping away at a stone or making a batik painting to take home can while away many an hour if you so intend. Or try your hand at some felt craft even willow bending, its heaven for occupational therapy, and a good way of discovering new hobbies and interests.

Other fields are themed in other ways, some more mystical than others, alternative healing gives respite to those with ails to be cured, or just to chill out around the stone circle.You can aimlessly wander from field to field in whatever state of mind you bring with you or endevour to discover, even meet yourself travelling the other way if you try hard enough.

Joining all the differing fields together food stalls assault your nasal passages, all of which provide nourishment of a vegetarian persuasion, Jamaican stalls rub shoulders with Indonesian, mexican is sold next to indian and Chai tea is sold by the bucketload. All the food is as organic as possible, sometimes a little pricey, but generally its all worth it, especially if you discover a new vegetable you would like to take home with you. If clothing takes your fancy then a festival high street splits the main fields in two. Jackets, jumpers, and jerkins are always available, festival fashions festooned in a myriad of colours shapes and sizes are arranged on racks to peruse and pour over. Often we return after careful consideration to purchase such items, to be worn continuously, or until the festival ends.

What is a festival without music, a festival without music. But this festival had music, and lots of it, more than you could shake a whole basket full of sticks at, and again many genre's for many tastes. Arthur Brown without his crazy world, headlined Thursday night without his crazy headwear, but for a man of his years, his performance was full of fire, good humour and his classic fire. Strange industrial techno preceeded Saturdays fireshow, loops of noise grabbed some by the Bjorks, some loved it and some hated it, but it was different and compelling. Nik Turner was scheduled to play with Galacticos, and did so, but the previous night, without any prior warning played in a chai tent with Space Ritual, must to the dismay of Mr Pla (a long time Hawkwind/Nik Turner addict), as he missed it. To finish Sunday night, The Baghdaddies performed Ska with a middle eastern twist, no oil crazed illegal invasion here, just damn fine music to end a damn fine festival.

So what else was happening during the festival, well plenty of wanderings, a fair quantity of alcohol consumed both during the day and in the evening, two locals became frequented, one being the Bimble bar situated near the bottom of the family field, the second being a magnificent chai tent usually visited last thing at night for an evening tipple. Amongst the other sights were Terry Pratchet, well if it wasn't him he has an identical twin. At least one wedding was performed, a mobile confessional captured unexpecting sinners, several grumpy goblins saught out gobliny things and death and mrs bolster paid a visit.

Sorry Shambala, you have lost your crown for family festivals, five days of chilled out fun, with perfect camping weather thrown in for good measure. Even though there are probably 3-4 times as many people attending The Big Green Gathering than last years Shambala, it felt far less crowded, plus there is much more to see and do, just a shame there is no mass fancy dress, maybe that could be suggested for next year, as for next year, i would like to do it all over again.

Correfoc - Masquefa Barcelona

correfoc

masquefa barcelona may 2006


There is no way on earth that this festival could be performed in England, its a pity for it is such a great spectacle, it unifys the village and all around, just as long as you don't mind loud noise, and being chased throughthe streets by devils brandishing pitchforks carrying fireworks.

Brief description taken from internet:
The 'Correfoc' (running fire) comes from a medieval dance called 'ball de diables' (demons dance) that represented the victory of an angel over a group of demons and was represented on festivities. Later pyrotechnics were added, and now it lacks any religious background except thefact that they're disguides as demons, so its just an entertainment thing that's done on various festivities, mostly on summer. In addition every group of demons has a monster that spits fireworks and all of them have a group of drummers that keep playing while the correfoc lasts. People are free to get inside the correfoc and stay under the fireworks, althoughyou should be properly dressed with old cotton clothes and a hat so you don't get burned.

That said, you have to experience it, a sensory assault that resembles a riot, with adults and children alike in caps and scarves covering as much of the face as possible. The preceedings start from the square with a vitriolic attack on all organisations, from the church to the state, drummers pound out continuously in between statements of abuse.

The march meanders through the village stopping off outside the town hall to give a special bit of abuse, similar treatment is given to the church. A rather large dragon is festooned with fireworks and all are set ablaze to whoops and cheers from the ensembled followers. All the way through the village the 'demons' continuously move back and forth from the cart carrying the fireworks, load their pitchfork, have it ignited by those carrying flares, and run with fireworks blazing towards all those participating in the fun.

If you wanted to sleep tonight you would have no chance, as the festivities continued to the late hours of midnight, The whole village gets involved, from those dressed up as the 'demons', the many who run the gauntlet of fire and residents who hang out of windows to watch it all happen from the safety of their homes.


Of course this could never happen in England, for many reasons, spoilsports.

If you get the chance to see and experience the correfoc, then do so, but you may need earplugs as well.

Spanish Grand Prix

spanish grand prix

may 2006

Finally I have made it, after spending many many weekends glued to the television, watching those ridiculously tuned cars, teararsing around complicated circuits, I am here. This year I have managed to make it to Barcelona to both visit my friends there and also to break my duck, experiencing my first Grand Prix in the flesh. This has got to be the best €95 I have spent. Some say its a boring sport watching cars go round and round, but until you truely understand it for what it is you will be forever devoid of the pleasure. Like football fans all around the world, this has to be seen in the flesh, you have to hear it, smell it, comsume it, its a group experience like no other. It doesn't matter who you have come to support, there is no segregation, all fans alike mingle together sharing what is about to become a most memorable experience.

This is a 4 day event, with open days, free practice sessions, qualifying and of course the race. As Michelle is working over some of the events, myself and Gabi venture forth to visit the circuit on open day, to wander around the pits and stand on the track. Fortunately the circuit is not a great distance from Masquefa, but a good 45mins drive. Its a nice sunny day, and a relatively early start must be made. On arrival at the circuit I wander around the large overbearing fence to approach a viable entrance point. At the turnstile i encounter a slight problem, to enter what is entitled a 'free' entry day I am expected to produce my ticket, the ticket I remember leaving back at Michelle's. This is a problem. Is there a potential solution to this problem, is there a temporary entrance fee I can pay to allow me to gain entrance to this temple of motorsport delight. Unfortunately there is not, and upon asking at the ticket window I am not alone, as many people have arrived without tickets, as in previous years this has not been a problem, and free entry was given to all who required it. Bugger.

So all that could be done, is to leave unfullfilled, and venture home. Fortunately we decide to visit the beach in Barcelona, and upon reaching the roundabout there be a familiar sight, a Red Bull Formula 1 car is parked by the side of the roundabout. Quickly pulling over, I grab my camera and move post haste to see this most fantastic of beasts. Just as I arrive at the scene the car in question is being packed away, so a quick word with the guy in charge, and a quick photo opportunity has arrived. The guy turns out to be a Brit, so a quick conversation ensues, pleasantries are exchanged and off I go on my way.

Friday is free practice, as this only lasts for a couple of hours and there is no guarantee who will be on track, I have decided to venture back into Barcelona, and have a good wander around on my own. Whilst visiting the Sagrada Familia I pass something I had been pondering to purchase. That being a Renault t-shirt, and a haggle must commence. Whilst perusing the shirts in question, I am asked what I am after, of course I reply 'one of these' and ask how much, this prompts the reply €29, a short intake of breath must then follow from me, and am then asked to make an offer, I with some cheek reply 20, the response of course is negative. Eventually after a quick haggle we arrive at a mutual price of 23. Cheers mate.

Saturday is qualifying, but as Michelle has plans for the morning, we do not go. It must be watched on the TV, but as Spanish is not my native language, plus I know very little anyway, Michelle provides an interpretation. Alonso being the magnificent driver he is, puts it on pole, so we are very happy again, tomorrow is race day, and an early start must be had.

So now it begins, early to rise, and the drive to the circuit must come first. Stocking up on food and appropriate provisions, seats and sun cream, water and headwear. All must be packed, for all of this will be consumed during the day for the early start is a very early start, we set out at 6. On arrival the traffic is starting to build, and parking must be achieved. Tickets are ripped and foodstuffs carried inside, I am finally here. As Gabi had broken his ankle the previous year, it was still giving him some grief, so a suitable vantage point must be located. A great little shaded spot provides us with all we need, seats are erected, food stashed, Gabi seated, and me and Michelle go for a wander to see what delights can be found. Not far from where we left Gabi are all the displays, in which are this years cars on display. As I am becoming something of a fanatic these days, many photo's are taken of all the cars, pausing to drool over the current Maclaren, for its a beaut.

Now we must take our seats, for the racing is about to begin. First of all the screens display a superbikes race, this is not my thing, but it still provides a suitable respite while awaiting the main event. Secondly a GP2 race is scheduled, this is more like it, GP2 is similar to F1, but with less money, power and kudos. Over this season, I have been following the progress of this championship and am quite aware of an English driver by the name of Hamilton. This race provides a few spills and mishaps, but still it is not what we are here for, and Hamiltion only finishes 3rd. Of course everyone here cheers in all the right places, and encourages all that need encouragement. The final race before the final race is the Porsche. Again it provides all the right ingredients, with a few more spills and cheers and is soon overwith. Time for food.

Juan Carlos being a motor sport fan is given a lap of the circuit driven by Fernando Alonso, both of whom are given a most raptuously appreciative nod as they hurtled around the circuit. The next big cheer was for the drivers parade as they also travelled around the circuit but this time on a flat back lorry, waving eagerly to the anticipated crowd. All around the circuit flags are being waved, seats are being filled, all around is a sea of blue and yellow, those being the colours of Alonso, interspaced are representaives of other teams, but of all the 130,000 fans there, the majority must go to Renault, and Alonso. Blasting across the sky came the Spanish equivalent of the Red Arrows, displaying feats of aerial excellence, trailing coloured smoke in both the colours of Spain and Catalunya. Now the fun begins as the drivers do a final lap from the pit lane to the grid, last to emerge is Alonso and Fiscichella, all around the track his presence is preceeded by a roar, not from the cars but generated by all the fans. The cars form up on the grid, in readyness for the formation lap, again the cars move in formation around the track, and again the roar of the crowd almost obliterates to roar of the engines, almost. All eyes move to the large screens strategically around the track, the race is about the start.

The red lights go out on we are off, if thought any of the previous races, and formation laps were loud, that was nothing compared to what awaited us. In no time at all, the Formula 1 snake of cars was upon us, assaulting all our senses, flags are waved, horns blasted, voices scream and cheer to near breaking point. All of this pales to insignificance as the cars rip around the corner at which we are located, everything vibrates, even my eyelashes vibrate in sympathy to the V8's tuned to 18,000rpm. Of course Alonso is in the lead, followed by Fissi, and the Schumacher and Massa, this continues to the first set of pit stops. Renault blink first, but all goes smoothly, as the leading 4 cars are so far ahead of the rest of the pack, Alonso is able to slip back into the main pack in 4th place, Fissi comes in next, thus leaving the Ferarri's in 1st and second place. Shumacher puts the hammer down using what fuel he has left to try and eat into Alonso's lead, which was at 13 seconds after only a third of the race. Fortunately both the Ferarri's come in for tyres and fuel after only 5 laps, thus allowing Alonso to slip back into 1st place. The next third of the race proceeded without incident, apart from Montoya beaching his car, and putting him out of the race. Kimi tried to catch up to the leading pack, but his pace was lacking. At the second set of pit stops the Renault's came in 1st again, but as Alonso had rebuilt his lead, he had no problems, the same could not be said for Fissi, for he made a slight detour off the track which allowed Schumacher to slip past him into 2nd place after all the pit stops had finished. Kimi still could not catch up with the leaders, so 5th place would be his best for the day. The final 3rd of the race went without incident as Alonso maintained his lead over Schumacher.

All through the race I kept one eye on the race infront of me and the other via my binocculars on the screens to check on time splits, pit windows and other information i would normally have listened to from the commentary off the TV. But being there as Alonso started his final lap was like nothing I had experienced all day. From the start of his final lap, the horns came out again, not that they ever went away, but somehow someone had turned up the volume on everything, thunderous cheers swelled the crowd to its feet, pushing Alonso on to his first Spanish victory, and another 10 points. I had never expected to feel so connected to so many people, a mass collective experience unlike any other. A rush of emotion came over the crowd as Alonso flashed past the chequered flag to cement his victory over Schumacher, and started his celebrationary lap, all the marshalls came upto the trackside to flagwave Alonso round for one final time, his car had never moved to slow all day, but it was his moment, the little Spaniard had done it, he had won his home Grand Prix.

All that was left was for the presentation of his trophy, of course there could be only one person who could bestow that honour, King Juan Carlos, we could see from the giant screens that this was a special presentation for the king, and Alonso lapped it all up like the World Champion he is. Champagne is sprayed upon all who got too close, then it was off to the press conference. Again that was all in Spanish, i would have to wait until we got back home to Michelle's to watch all the race again, and have Michelle translate all the important bits. As it was a nice day, and we were in no hurry to get back, I went for another wander around the circuit, climbed up a few grandstands to see where i could get tickets for next year, and ate some more food while the bulk of the crowd made their way from the circuit. Eventually it was time to leave, and watch the race again, but this time on TV, but it pales in comparison to actually being there. Next year we shall return, get grandstand seats, and maybe even another race somewhere during the season.