2007 Tour Diary Part 7  - posted Dec 13th 2007   

(continued from last week)

'And war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. The dragon and his angels fought back, but they were defeated, and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the deceiver of the whole world - he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.'
- Revelations 12:7-9

Red Steve’s no Angel. Neither is he on Outlaw, a Road Rat, nor even a Gypsy Joker. In fact, he’s officially classed as ‘Independent’. In his own words: “No club will have me, and I like it that way”. But despite his non - affiliated status, Steve can walk through the doors of any clubhouse in the country without fear of reproach. Red Steve is a Biker’s Biker. His Gory Locks are the colour of fire, his teeth as black as night, and occasionally during our conversation, alluding to certain dark practices about which he intimated that I best remain ignorant, he would chortle demonically, resembling A very Evil Santa. (Satan's Claus?).

Bikers like the Alabama 3. They like the whole Outlaw shtick, they like the Cowboy Hats, and they approve of our cynical view vis a vis the operations of the Judiciary. We’ve played the Bulldog bash, their annual convention, a couple of times, and they always treated us with the utmost courtesy, which is more than I can say for a lot of festival organizers (see Babylon in Avalon). I remembered a quote I read in Hunter. S Thompson’s book about the Angel’s:


‘The best thing about the Angels is that we don’t lie to each other. Of course that don’t go for outsiders because we have to fight fire with fire. Hell, most people you meet won’t tell you the truth about  anything
- Zorro, The Only Brazilian Hell's Angel in 1966


Chatting with Red Steve, Coming up on my Disco Biscuit, I felt a strange bond growing between us. This was quite unsettling. Chatting away with me, most amiably and frankly, he would drop in the occasional, thinly veiled threat to my life.

'Listen, Orlando. I come down Glastonbury for a couple of weeks in the summer, do a bit of work in the children’s field, have a good time. While I’m here I’m a nice guy. The other 50 weeks of the year, you don’t wanna fucking know me. I’m a Bastard.'

I'd had a couple of encounters with the Angels before joining the Alabama 3, and on neither occasion did I succeed in endearing myself to them. In the Wine Vaults in Banbury, where I grew up, I plonked myself down one night, pissed and giggling, next to a huge one. It was very crowded, and an inadvisable degree of bodily contact had undeniably occurred. His eyes bore into my eyeliner encrusted face, taking in my pink muppet mohican with authentic revulsion.

'Why are you sitting next to me, you FUCKING QUEER!!?'

I had no answer.

A year later, in Westbourne park, busting for a piss, I shoved my way thru the crowded bar of the Royal Oak Public House with the bunch of Tesco's shopping bags that constituted my entire worldly estate at that time. I found the gents and thankfully unclenched my prostrate. As my eyeballs rolled into the back of my head, a leathered, bearded motorcycle enthusiast exploded thru the cubicle door and pinned me by the throat to the toilet wall:

'Watch where you're fucking going, poof! If you ever touch me again I'll rip your bollocks off and make you EAT them. Understand?'

'Um yes...sorry..... thank you' I gargled, cock flailing, piss dribbling over my Doctor Martin’s...

Angels are not really touchy - feely people. You wouldn't, for instance, with any degree of confidence, do an E with one.


Why does this keep happening to me? It seems every time I eat one of these MUD pies I find myself in a potentially violent situation, and my fluffy Global Love is spiked with a nasty shard of paranoia... Those other petrolheads were provincial amateurs compared to Red Steve. You only have to talk to him for 30 seconds to know he's quoted. What if Red Steve things I'm Gay? Bikers don't like gays. Bikers rip gay's bollocks off and make them eat them. What if Red Steve thinks I’m some kind of gay homosexual bum-jockey who's trying to chat him up? I'm wearing make - up, I'm arguably effeminate, and God, help me, I'm asking leading questions about his personal life...For Christ Sake change the subject...

Hold on. Did he say he was working in the Children's Field?

'What are you doing in the children's field Red Steve?'

'Building a Dragon. Me and the kids are gonna take it up to the top of the hill on the last day and burn it at twilight.'

'Wow. Far Out. Can I see it?'

Steve ponders for a minute. 'Yeah. Alright. Follow me.'

As we exit the tent, Red Steve calls back to a few of his biker colleagues, sitting around a table with their J.D's.

'Back in a minute, boys. I'm just gonna take him out, stake 'im and rape 'im.'

'er.... ha ha.... nice one Steve... ha ha ha'

(Concluded next week)

(c) Orlando Harrison 2007