Jani, Chishop (in the mask) and chums at some point during the night in question. It got worse....much worse...

A week or so later, Haystacks discovered a scrunched up piece of paper with infantile scribble on it…..Jani's e-mail address. Thus began a regular cyber-exchange between the two of them….Haystacks offering witty, well punctuated items of interest and Jani dribbling drunken bollocks into his computer when he stumbled in from the pub or surfaced from his latest vodka binge.

Somehow they managed to get a proposed gig together. Argy Bargy had been pencilled in for August 23rd in Tampere but couldn't confirm, so Jani offered the show to The 'Yob instead. Over the following weeks they managed to iron out all the details:- flights, venue, P.A, accommodation, beer etc and before they knew it, The Yobs had secured themselves a jaunt to Scandinavia. It wasn't a smooth ride. The original venue pulled out because they'd been promised Argy Bargy, and if Argy Bargy weren't coming then the gig was off. Jani got another venue on board:- Laterna, which is a posh restaurant near the centre of Tampere which had somehow got involved in staging occasional punk and Oi! gigs. There was a real ding dong battle over the Ryan Air flights. Due to the fact that there was no direct flight from Stansted to Tampere (there is now though…bastards!!) it was necessary to fly to Skavsta airport in Sweden and from there onto Tampere. Ryan Air being wankers, then changed the flight details several times before settling on a itinerary which meant a stopover in Sweden of 11 hours on the way there and 14 hours on the way back. If anyone has been to Skavsta airport they'll know what a remote toss-hole it is. More about that later. Anyway, couple all this with band line-up changes and transport logistics problems and you'll see what a miracle it was that Haystacks and Jani got it sorted at all.

Sorted it was, and as the event approached Haystacks set about addressing the problem of what to do in a closed Swedish airport for 11 hours whilst waiting for a connecting flight. Through friends of friends he got hold of Uffe from Swedish Viking Rockmegastars Ultima Thule and basically blagged a kip. It turned out that UT's base was in Nykøping: about 8 or 9 miles from Skavsta. Uffe very kindly offered to put the 'Yobs up for the night and ferry them back to the airport in the morning for their onward trip to Finland.

Jani made a whistle stop expedition to England at the end of July. His mission, apart from to get wankered at every opportunity, was to track down Watford Jon and secure an Argy Bargy trip to Finland for the following year and also to have a beer or two with his Warriors buddies. Haystacks picked him up at the airport and it was an unhappy Jani who discovered that his bag had been sabotaged and the cans of Finnish beer he'd brought as a present had been speared. He was more miffed about the loss of his ale than the fact that all his clothes were soaked with stale beer. Fortunately, his hidden bottle of spirits had survived (when I mean spirit I mean tar…yup, only the Finns would distill booze from something they also coated the underneath of their boats with!!!) He stayed at the Haystacks Hotel on the Thursday of his visit and hit the local pub with Ace also in tow. He bumped into a mate of Ace and Haystacks' that was in a band which had been to Finland the year before. Not only that, the gig had been promoted by Jani's mate Riba. Small world eh? Jani got suitably rotten and wobbled off home cuddling a kebab and extolling the virtues of "…fine English cuisine…". After getting up the next morning and drying his beery clothes in the tumble dryer he disappeared off and was never seen again all weekend.

As the weeks ambled by it seemed that everything had been ironed out, and as the day of departure dawned, it was a fairly cheery and optimistic foursome who set off in the Haystacks Vitesse for sunny Stansted airport in deepest darkest Essex on Thursday afternoon August 21st. They stopped off en route in Bishop Stortford for one final English scoff and descended upon the airport in good time for checking in. Captain Flame went into airport mode as soon as the Airware hit the check-in hall, and he had the boys checked in with their money changed up and their hand luggage weighed before you could say 'On Yer Bike'.

With their jovial Cockney charm, witty rejoinders, bad breath and Frankie's maniac stare they managed to sufficiently distract the Ryan Air check-in clerk as per usual, and the hugely overweight merch suitcase managed to get aboard. It was with some trepidation that Chipshop and Haystacks sent their guitars into the fragile luggage conveyor. Their previous jaunt abroad to Germany had resulted in Ryan Bloody Air losing their instruments and some poor German cabby having to get up at the crack of dawn to transport the Superyob tools of torture from Frankfurt-Hahn Airport to the middle of the Black Forest.

With Frankie twitching and rapidly going into nasal spray mode ready for take-off, the lads did the obvious thing and descended upon the bar for a few soothing pints of Guinness. Being veterans of many punk rock charabanc outings between them, the conversation swiftly turned to anecdotes of previous campaigns mixed with hopes and aspirations for this particular trip. Chipshop had entered ale mode and, spotting this, Frankie ushered his merry men through into departure where Chipshop simply RE-entered ale mode. As the Stella started to flow, Frankie began his pre-flight regime. Several cold ones later and Chipshop was most definitely well into his too. Sensible Ace had resorted to a nice cup of tea and Frankie had plumped for a coffee in the face of an all too inevitable Haystacks and Chipshop 'session'. Frankie managed to get the two of them up to the departure gate with the dangling carrot of "..there is a bar up there you know…" and with pockets stuffed full of bags of crisps and sneaky cans of Stella our heroes eventually boarded the flight to Sweden.

The flight itself was uneventful apart from Haystacks having a stand up row with one of the cabin crew for leaving the 'fasten seatbelt' sign on too long because she knew that he was dying for a piss, and Chipshop snoring noisily after nodding off after having drank his carry-out. Ace and Frankie went through into Round 1 of their continuing 'Superyob On Tour:- Let's Put The World To Rights' debate.
The flight was bang on time and as they touched down in the still late night Scandinavian summer air, they hoped like hell that Uffe was on the mark with the kips.
And indeed he was….as Chipshop and Haystacks were still blearily coming to terms with the fact that poxy Ryan Air hadn't sent their guitars to Magaluf, Ace had nipped outside to find Uffe waiting for them with his nice spacious car. Gear stowed, they headed off into the night and about 15 minutes of lakes and trees later they were holed up at Ultima Thule's office/studio. After a quick tour, Uffe left the boys to their own devices with the cheery invitation to "…help themselves to whatever was in the fridge and freezer…". Chipshop was in there within seconds. There must be beer here somewhere surely? Empty beer bottles lay strewn throughout the entire place…in the beautifully crafted control room and studio, in the merch room with it's giant pool table and in the office HQ with it's state of the art gear. Yeah, empty was right….Chippy couldn't find a single unopened bottle of beer in the place. And if he couldn't find one, then there wasn't one. He found a slab of cans of coke, some frozen fast food, a big box of chocolate bars and then….bingo…Jagermeister!!!!!!. The 'Yobs On File Over Deutschland' tour in April had seen the boys firmly ingratiate themselves with the drinking phenomenon that is Jagermeister. A ferociously potent rich German liqueur, it had been downed in colossal amounts post gig in Germany and had not taken many prisoners. (Pete from On File still bears the physical and emotional scars!!!!). There is a story I could recount here about Chipshop, Haystacks and the guv'ner of Trinkteufel in Berlin and a bottle of Portuguese moonshine, but I'll save that for another time.

With Jagermeister their only alcohol option and all still on a high in such glorious surroundings, they set to work. Now Jagermesiter is a treat at the best of times, but chilled from the fridge it's divine….if you consider drinking something akin to cough mixture mixed with surgical spirit and Ralgex divine, that is. As tiredness crept up on them, the Jagermeister began to take its toll. With one litre down Frankie hit the sack and then Haystacks not long after. Ace was the sensible one as usual, but he wasn't sensible enough to avoid a drunken debate with Chipshop, who by now was merrily stumbling around the gaff. Supper took the form of chocky bars and microwaved quiche and as the day finally came to an end, the sweet hum of drunken snoring echoed robustly out into the Swedish countryside. Superyob were on tour again!!!!

Uffe came back in the morning with a cheery smile and a collection of breakfast nibbles. Hangovers were prominent:- the Jagermeister had done its job well. He ferried the boys back to Skavsta in the Ultima Thule Battle Bus (which he assured them was only used to go and pick the post up in!!!!) and bid them good luck and a fond farewell:- promising that there would be someone there to pick them up on the return leg of their journey.

The flight from Sweden to Finland was a short one hour hop and as they touched down in Tampere the sky was bright and moods were good. Chipshop set his own personal tone for the weekend by breaking wind with such ferocity in the queue to get out of the terminal that one passer-by visibly retched and another picked up his bags and moved to the back of the queue.

Jani was there to meet them with 2 cars, his mates Teemu and Pyry and a welcoming collection of Finnish beer. One quick word about Finnish beer. Karhu. That's all you need to know. Karhu means 'bear' in Finnish and is by far the best beer to drink out there. In comes in several strengths and the rule of thumb is the stronger the Karhu, the better it tastes. No, really, it does!!!!!.

One short trip later and they were all in the centre of town….a brisk bustling modern kind of place. It didn't feel odd, it just felt different….all the shops signs in that mental Finnish language, a mixture of modern and older buildings and a sort of freshness that you wouldn't really associate with an English city of the same size. Tampere is Finland's third biggest city with a population of 200,000 out of the national total of 5,000,000. It's in the South West of the country about 200 miles from the Russian border and was a pivotal city in the Civil War of 1918 and the Winter War of 1939. (You can still see bullet holes in some of the buildings….bit like Deptford I suppose!!!)

Ensconced in town it seemed rude not to, so they all went to the pub. A rather excited Frankie in a burst of camaraderie to his new Finnish chums rushed to the bar and ordered beers for 7. He'd forgotten that the Finnish beer prices were enough to make the Pope cuss, so his face was an absolute picture when he was presented with the bill. Funnily enough, he mentioned it a few more times during the course of the weekend.
After a couple of liveners it was a trip back to Jani's gaff on the outskirts of town. What followed was a comical journey, as Teemu, driving point, seemed to keep getting lost in his own town. He tried to accuse the council of moving the roads, and the convoy eventually got stuck in a dead end street in the middle of a dodgy housing estate half way to Jani's. After finally extricating themselves, they made it back to Jani's just in time for a late afternoon lunch. Here the Yobs met Jani's lovely wife Hanna and their kids and also Jani's mate Santtu and also Make from the previous London trip. His gaff was a large spacious flat in a modern estate right on the edge of Tampere complete with plenty of kip space, a sauna (apparently every newly built house in Finland has a sauna in:- more about saunas later), several snakes and a healthy stash of beer which instantly attracted Chipshop's attention. The plan was to have a quick scoff, get their stuff together and then head out into the nearby countryside to spend the night boozing and barbecue-ing at Make's family country house up in the wooded lakelands.

The family Syrja....Jani (sober), his missus Hanna and their three saucepans. Perfect hosts.

After a hearty meal courtesy of Hanna and a quick shower they were all ready to go. With a collection of meat, beer, blankets and vodka they set off on their adventure. Pyry came back to give a lift, as did Make's wife Riika and by late afternoon they'd all relocated to the glorious Finnish countryside. The place was about 20 miles from Tampere and was basically a small hamlet of traditional wooden buildings scattered on a wooded slope overlooking a huge freshwater lake. It was pleasantly warm but a bit drizzly and overcast. The main thing that was overpowering was the stillness. There was hardly a sound from anywhere and you really did get a feeling of being remote and at one with the surroundings. Make's plot was a collection of 4 small buildings arranged around a garden-like communal area. There was the summer house, the sauna house, the outside khazi and the family morgue!!! I'm not kidding. When people had died in generations past they were placed in a dedicated building for rest before the weather thawed enough to either a) bury them or b) transport them back to town. It was a spooky place with antlers horns over the door and small brass plaques to commemorate those who'd died and had temporarily lain there.

At the summer house with Jani (still sober) brandishing the twigs for later in the evening. From the left:- Chipshop, Jani, Ace, Frankie, Make, Haystacks, Pyry, Photo courtesy of Santtu.

Pyry and Riika left after a quick beer, and as darkness encroached the boys settled down on the porch of the sauna house and set about the mountain of alcohol which Jani informed them had to be all drunk by the morning. As the shadows of the trees lengthened over the garden area, Make set about readying things for the evening ahead. Out came the lanterns, on went the sauna and barbecue and as a finishing touch he rustled up a small bonfire down on the edge of the garden. 'What was the fire for if we've got the barbecue?' our naïve English chums inquired. 'To keep away the bears and wolves when it gets dark' replied the Finnish contingent. Shee-it…no-one had mentioned bears and wolves. 'They weren't dangerous though, were they…were they?' 'Oh, we don't get as many people eaten as we used to…' Bloody hell….it all seemed that much more intense all of a sudden, as each flicker from a flame or twisting shadow seemed to look like a wolf. Not only that, to go for a tom tit you had to walk a hundred yards out into the woods to the crapper. It was enough to make you feel like a tom tit right there and then, I tell you. 'Just don't wander off too far away from the lantern' the boys were told, buttocks clenching at the thought of needing to go for a dump in the dark.

Here are a couple of shots from the summer house as the dusk turns into evening. On the left we see Chipshop, Frankie, Jani (still just about sober) and Make posing something rotten. On the right we see Haystacks (bitten to bits by mosquitoes, Jani ( a bit tiddly now) and Santtu (just resting his eyes honest guv) on the sauna veranda.

Fairly predictably, the evening slowly but surely turned into a glorious piss-up. Meat got slung on the Barbie, beers got quaffed by the crate-load and out came the cameras for group photo opportunities. The only real downer was the bastard mosquitoes:- Haystacks got bitten to bits. And we're not talking gnat bites here, we're talking chuff-off great big buggers. Stories were recounted, worlds were put to rights and hopes were aired for the following days gig:- all to the backdrop of Jani's punk CDs on the Ghetto Blaster…Ghetto Blaster?… mmmnh good name for an album that…..

It soon came to the Pièce de Resistance of the evening. It was sauna time. It had turned out that when The Warriors had came over to play, the only band member to brave the sauna was Saxby….but he was labelled a bit of a girl for keeping his boxers on. Superyob were keen to outdo the Herne Bay Herberts in the sauna stakes, so as Make stoked up the beast it was time for men to be men and rise to the challenge…or, in this case, for Frankie and Ace to declare themselves "…a bit tired.." and leg it to the summer house to hit the sack. This left 'Stacks and Chippy to fly the flag for Superyob. Now, when we talk about sauna, we don't mean that flimsy little shed thing you see for sale at Makros with a bucket, an electric heater and a temperature gauge. We mean a purpose built house with a wood burning stove, proper stones, a collection of curious buckets, plasticky things and most importantly…no temperature gauge. Finns are introduced to these hellish contraptions from about 2 years of age, so to them it's second nature to shut yourself in a room at about 160º, bash each other with clumps of twig and run around naked afterwards in the snow.
Chipshop 'warmed up' (excuse the pun) by popping into the sauna with a bottle of beer fully clothed. With the temperature at 100º he didn't last long…and his beer came out feeling like a recently poured cup of tea. With Jani, Make and Santtu down to their birthday suits within a matter of seconds there was nothing else for it:- our brave ambassadors had to get buck naked for God, Queen and Punk and do their duty.
Towels out and kit off (though Chippy tried sneaking in with his knickers still on and was promptly sent out to get 'em off) it was all in the sauna and once you got over the slightly gay scenario of 5 naked men sitting squeezed into a very hot little room it wasn't too bad. Then it changed…..
Mental Make went to work on the curious collection of buckets and plastic ladles and before long, he had arranged a semi circle of bucketfuls of water or varying temperatures and was happily stuffing wood into the burner. With the first splosh of ladled water onto the stones the whole thing went tits up. It felt like someone had ignited a nuclear warhead in front of you and the heat was indescribable…your eyes felt like they were going to melt and you had to cover your mouth to try to stop the burning air from ripping your lungs out. Haystacks was straight out the door and Chippy wasn't far behind him. That left a trio of laughing, drunken, naked Finnish gits sitting ripping the piss out of their English sauna virgin chums.
After a couple of return visits you're tolerance would go up and up, but Mad Make spoiled it each time by sending the bloody temperature up through the roof. It didn't seem to affect the Finns, but after about 15 minutes they emerged for a stumble about in the dewy grass outside the sauna.
Haystacks went back in on his todd and by playing about with the buckets managed to get a temperature that was actually manageable and pleasant without peeling off the skin. Then Loony Make popped up for his party piece….it was a pure 'Mr. Big dropping the soap in the showers' type moment as he brandished his tethered twigs at a visibly nervous looking Haystacks. He gave him the full works….a head to toe battering with his twigs:- designed to healthily increase the blood flow of the skin. Haystacks emerged looking like he'd been run over by a stampeding herd of buffalo, but once the cold air hit him then a great big grin appeared. It all turned out to be rather a pleasant (though obviously a bit gay) experience. A crazy, grinning Make beckoned a cowering Chipshop towards the sauna…..

The shame of Chipshop:- trying to get away with having a sauna fully clothed...Make was having none of it; in an extremely rude pose involving Jani (fairly squiffy) and with Haystacks, Jani (quite pissed) and Santtu flying the flag.

Saunas done and basking in the cool early morning darkness the conversation began again. Jani declared that all Finns were supermen who could drink and drink until all around them were rendered unconscious. He put his money where his mouth was by brandishing a particularly nasty looking bottle of Russian vodka and announcing that he wasn't stopping until he'd drunk it all and also any beer that the '…English poofs…' had left behind. Now, as you know, 'Stacks and Chippy are a fairly handy duo a far as hitting the ales is concerned, but faced with a shining example of a nation who had the most cases of under 30's alcoholism in Europe and one of the highest suicide rates in the world, they chose to remain on the beer. Santtu joined Jani on the Vodka and it soon became obvious that with half the band hiding in their beds, even such gargantuan guzzlers such as our cuddly couple couldn't hope to shift all the remaining beer. No harm in trying though!!!!
With Jani staggering around in just his boxers and Superyob t-shirt, Santtu hovering between awake and asleep in a vodka stupor and Make running around setting light to things to keep the bears and wolves at bay, 'Stacks and Chippy did the obvious thing…fired the barbie up again for supper. Some curiously shaped smoked sausages were left from tea, so with Santtu dead they were luzzed onto a soon roaring barbecue courtesy of Make. As the final repast of the day slowly took shape, Jani finally lost the plot. Reeling dangerously, he attempted to sit on Chipshop's lap. It all ended in tears when the plastic seat that he was on gave way, unceremoniously dumping Chippy on his arse and sending Jani flying headfirst into a large boulder. Once Chipshop had stopped laughing he realised that Jani might be dead. No such luck…he'd merely stunned himself and before long was back upright again: covered in mud from head to toe and with a big lump on the side of his head.

Sausages scoffed and Jani now totally unable to stand up for more than 3 seconds at a time, it was time for bed. It was nearly 5a.m after all. Make carted a wasted Santtu off to the summer house and Chippy half carried a protesting Jani. Santtu was unceremoniously dumped on a sofa in the hallway and after taking a few more photos Make promptly collapsed on top of him. This just left three. Jani was ranting about the beer that hadn't been drunk by the '…English poofs…' and proclaiming Finnish superiority over every other race in the world. Ace and Frankie, obviously understandably embarrassed and disgraced at letting Queen and Country down in the sauna wars, happily pretended to be asleep all through Jani's drunken warblings. Haystacks finally hit the sack too, and this left Chipshop to carry Jani bodily back out to the hall and dump him on top of his chums. He tried manfully to re-enter the fray several times but finally gave up as each time Chippy hauled him straight back out of the door on top of his recumbent comrades. Come 5 o'clock it was all quiet on the Western Front….save for the gentle punctuation of Haystacks' obscene snoring and Chipshop's ferocious trumping. What a day.

Final shots of the day:- Frankie, it all a bit too much for him, hiding from the sauna and Haystacks, Jani (fuckin' rotten) and Chipshop in the kitchen just before bedtime.

Come 9.30 the next morning it was not a pretty sight…or smell for that matter. Three entwined drunken Finns lay curled up in the hallway:- 2 fully clothed and one semi-naked and covered in dried mud cuddling a empty vodka bottle. Four '…English poofs…' lay in various degrees of sleep refreshment and dishevelment with an obscene stench clinging to their throats. Chipshop had managed to fill the entire room with invisible fertilizer whilst asleep. The richness of the barbecue feast from the night before hung heavily in the air, and, as Ace and Haystacks began the necessary search for morning tea making equipment, Chipshop announced that he was once again awake by letting rip with such violent resonance that it actually woke Frankie up.
As morning teas, coffees and cold meat sandwiches were consumed, the group slowly tried to pull themselves together. Jani was still outrageously drunk and was screaming for paracetomol for his splitting headache. Santtu and Make looked like 2 sacks of shit tied up in the middle as they attempted to get all the gear together. Ace and Frankie looked exactly like 2 blokes who'd ran off to bed and had had at least twice as much sleep as anyone else. Chipshop looked pleased as punch that his bowels were still on top form and Haystacks looked like a man in need of several weeks uninterrupted sleep.
Phone calls were made, lifts home were summonsed and the most basic of morning ablutions were undertaken. The final coup de grace was left to Chipshop who, when attempting to retract the wooden fold-out sofa bed, managed to perch himself on top of it and snap the bloody thing in half. Hooray for a man who always leaves his mark.
As Pyry and Riika rolled up to collect the weary revellers there was a quick show of English hands for who'd been brave enough to visit the bog in the cover of darkness……none. Chippy had been before dark and Haystacks went the morning after….wolves and bears…paaah.

Final image of the visit to the summer house shows a scantily clad Chipshop in the process of breaking the bed.

Back at Jani's, the itinerary for the remainder of the day unfolded. There was time for a couple of hours kip, a shower and some more scran before heading back into town for late afternoon soundchecks. So that's exactly what they did. Hanna had the boys fed and watered again, and after a few hours of zeds and a nice refreshing shower, they were ready to punk.
A quick cab ride and they were all back in the throbbing hubbub which was Saturday evening Tampere. They rendezvoused at a cosy little local boozer who's guv'ner was a mate of Jani's and watched a bit of footy over a couple of beers as the other bands turned up. They eventually got the phone call from Peve the sound man and trooped en masse through town to the venue.
Laterna is a curious place. It's an impressive 2 storey building on a fairly quiet street slightly away from the very centre of town. Downstairs it looks just like a café-type bar but when you climb the ornate staircase to the restaurant you are transported to another world. An expensively decorated collection of rooms: oil paintings hang on the walls, white linen cloths cover the tables, antiques sit on carved wooden mantelpieces and staff hover expectantly as if ready to receive the evening's exclusive clientele. Instead, they receive a motley collection of punks, skins and rocker types ready to hit their respective riders and generally lower the tone and make a bleedin' racket. The stage had been set up at one end of the long central upstairs room and the dance floor was one of those proper sprung ones that remind you of going to school discos. So what the hell were they doing hosting an Oi! Gig then? Apparently they were quite amenable…they'd had a few there and there'd been no trouble so they persevered. Good on 'em, I say.
Soundchecks were sandwiched between general scoffing (again!!!) for all and sundry supplied by the restaurant and after a bit of fannying about and Ace falling off his drum stool a few times ('cos he'd forgotten his drum key and couldn't adjust it…Doh!!!) the 'Yob had got a big old bollocksy sound which had Frankie 'oof oof oof'-ing like a good 'un. All that remained then was about a six hour wait before show time. Now, as anyone who's played in a band at shows like this knows, it's the waiting to play that numbs the bum and brain and drives you to all sorts. Some people get pissed up. (The mohawk bass player with Common Voice for example…more about him later). No, don't want to spoilt the show for everyone by getting wankered. Some twats chose to get into drugs to while away the time in a zonked out stupor. No thank you very much. Luckier ones pop off to the tour bus and have a probably long-overdue kip. Ermmm…no such luck. In fact, what usually happens is you just sit, and sit and sit and sit….hoping for an interesting nugget of conversation to start that'll while away a few precious minutes. It's been worse….when you're in a country where English is not as widely spoken as in Finland it can end up with the four of you sitting twiddling your thumbs praying for something to happen. In this case it wasn't too bad:- there were plenty of people to talk to, other bands were soundchecking and later playing and there was plenty of beer on hand to gently take of the edge. As bands slowly eased through their respective soundchecks and it came to the doors actually opening to Joe Public, it was a very nervous Jani who was prowling through the venue. Estimated numbers meant that although he was unlikely to be able to retire on the takings, he was not gonna have to sell his sideburns to cover any losses either.

The place slowly began to fill and when the first band came on there was a fair smattering of attendees. Numbers grew solidly as the bands steamed through their sets. I caught most of the set by The Hoist. Apparently it was their first gig and their shouty collection of originals and covers had people singing along. I missed the set by Angry Old Man and the Fuck You Youth, but Ace told me it was a powerful set with a hard, aggressive vocal delivery and more of a hard core flavour.
The band back stage area had a piano sitting innocently in the corner, and it wasn't long before Frankie was getting the odd request for a couple of songs to entertain the throng. Now, anyone who knows Frankie will tell you that he's not gonna turn down the chance to bash out a few numbers on the old Joanna:- he is, after all, Mister Entertainment. In between live sets on the main stage he finally gave in and with the backstage room crammed with onlookers, he treated all and sundry to a bit of good old Sarf London entertainment with a bit of boogie-woogie, rock and roll and then a couple of Business and Cock Sparrer songs. Blimey, it was just like being down the Goose and Firkin all over again….the place went mad: all singing along and clapping. Top stuff.

A couple of live action shots show Frankie entertaining the troops back stage at the venue and Jani (pissed again) doing some very funky dancing.

It was around about this time that Common Voice had succeeded in attaining such a level of pre-performance refreshment that it was gonna be a small victory if they made it to the stage, let along manage a half accomplished set. Their aforementioned bass player had resorted to attempting to stand, giving up, sitting down again and then falling off his chair. The entertainment in the backstage area was in danger of becoming more compelling than that on the main stage. He'd also become rather fond of Frankie, and as he wobbled and stumbled his way around in search of his bass he christened his new chum 'Frankie-Stein' in his boozed up English. He thought this was hilarious and for the remainder of the evening (when not unconscious on the floor that is!!) could be heard chanting 'Frankie-Stein' 'Frankie-Stein' every time he happened across his new Street Rock hero.
The place was in full swing now: Jani was looking a bit calmer and was enjoying a few beers and the atmosphere was trouble free and warm and cheery. Peve the sound man turned up again, as did Pyry, Santtu and his missus Mari, Teemu and Riba. As the beers flowed, the atmosphere turned quite convivial with the Finns turning out to be friendly and interesting people. The crowd was a mixture of punks, skins and rockabilly types:- all somewhat keen on enjoying the national Finnish pastime of getting completely rotten.
Chipshop and Haystacks took a wander out back into the town for a beer and an explore, and consequently missed half of Common Voice's set. They did pretty well really, considering their combined level of inebriation. Bass man and the singer were visibly struggling at times, but the guitarist and the drummer managed to divert them from the brink of disaster on several occasions. Highlights of the set were swaying drunken versions of Blitz's 'Razors In The Night' and The Business' 'Drinking and Driving'.

When The Rejected took to the stage the place was really busy and the area in front of the stage was crammed with pogo-ing herberts, as they blasted out their powerful Oi!/Punk anthems. Their show was very entertaining and they played extremely well…only young lads too. Their experience of Holidays In The Sun in Morecambe earlier in the year had obviously done wonders for them as they really shone. Best support band by far.

The Rejected in action. Nice one!!!

As The 'Yob prepared themselves for the climax of the evening, the backstage area was pretty lively as the beer flowed, the cameras came out and even the odd video camera was bandied about. As they wound their way to the stage they were shepherded by the evenings official movie maker and Ace even managed a quick interview en route to his now correctly adjusted drum stool.
As the rock'n'roll intro of 'Ain't Gonna Take it' crashed out the dance floor erupted, as drunken Finns began clambering over each other and the patiently restrained security to get towards Frankie as he quickly settled into Mister Entertainment for the second time of the evening. It was a good an' proper knees up of a performance. There is no-one better in the business than Frankie, and within two or three songs he had the audience eating from the palm of his hand. Several times Haystacks was rescued from decapitation by Pyry as the lighting rigs swooped and swayed across the stage as bouncing singalong Finns bashed into them and each other. Sweat poured from our heroes as they blasted through their set. Classics from 'Aggrophobia' and 'Machine Guns & Alcohol' sat with cover versions by the likes of The Who and Eddie & The Hot Rods and previews of tunes from the new album 'Ghetto Blaster'. As a splendidly raucous rendition of 'On Yer Bike' drew the performance to a close the whole place was one beer and sweat soaked mêlée.

SUPERYOB in action:- L to R...Dave Haystacks, Frankie Flame, Chipshop John and Ace

The band withdrew to the backstage room and weighed straight into the long overdue Karhu frenzy. Chipshop had the ladies swooning at his customary post-gig strip to his ample boxers and it wasn't long before Frankie had been coaxed back onto the Joanna again for a series of singalong Oi! Classics. It was proper carnival stuff and the place was crammed with onlookers as the beer flowed and drunken voices joined in support of the toiling pianoman in the corner of the room. People were dancing on tables and singing their hearts out. Pete from The Rejected soon became the attention of rather an attractive little slinky blonde number who had obviously become quite taken with his youthful good looks. As Frankie sang and played away Chipshop had become rather transfixed with blondie practically shagging Pete with both their clothes on. When Pete managed to extricate himself, Chippy made his move. Now bearing in mind that the little flaxen-haired sauce bottle had seconds earlier been dribbling over a slim young good looking chap such as Pete, it was hardly surprising that when faced with a perspiring overweight northerner thirstily swigging from a bottle of beer she did the decent thing and laughed openly before legging it. Undeterred, Chippy made a couple of pathetic attempts to follow her around the room before Pete re-appeared and the enormity of his task finally dawned on him. He withdrew his attentions and upon scouring the room for further available talent, settled upon the girlfriend of a member of The Hoist as the target of his patently un-alluring twaddle.

As the beer ran out, and tired and drunken revellers slowly undertook their homeward journeys, the evening began to draw to a close. By about 4a.m there were just a handful of people left milling about. Jani had broken even so he was happy, Chipshop was happy as he'd discovered that the diminutive object of his earlier affectations was in fact as drunk as a lord and was keen on accompanying him back to Jani's place. Frankie was happy as he had added the Entertainment Champion of Finland title to the one he already held for Norway and he'd sold a fair old dollop merch. Ace was happy because bedtime was within reach and Haystacks was happy because he'd remembered that there was excess barbecue beer left at Jani's and with Chippy otherwise engaged in counting the bumps on his companion's chest it meant more for him. The next task for the evening was going to be finding some sherbets to take the merry band back to Jani's on the outskirts of town. The 'Yobs slowly made their way out of the place; bidding their fond farewells as they went. Mohawk bass-man hit Frankie with a final "…bye bye Frankie-stein…" as he narrowly avoided the buzzing throb of drunken cyclists nipping around in the street outside Laterna. Bags and guitars in hand, they slowly trudged towards the still busy town centre. People were enjoying the generous Finnish licensing laws all over the place, and the streets were still ringing with late night revelry. Two young scamps were eagerly beating the crap out of each other on the pavement as the weary band walked down to the main drag. Jani and Hanna weighed up the taxi options and a quick 5 minute walk, they had everyone camped at a taxi rank queue just off the main street. Here they waited…and waited….and waited …and after about 40 minutes, several pisses, the remainder of the gig beer hidden in Haystacks' bag and much merriment towards Chippy and his new young squeeze, they managed to get 2 cabs to get everyone back to Jani's.

It was past 5a.m by the time they were indoors. Jani put on some nice relaxing Ska, which was enough to send Ace off to his bed, as if he needed any further invitation. Haystacks wound down with Jani over a few beers and Frankie enjoyed a quiet post gig ciggie out on the balcony. As fatigue took over, they all slowly found their ways to their respective falling places for the remainder of the night. Ace took one of the kids bedrooms and Haystacks the lower bunk bed in another. Frankie had set himself up on a mattress on the floor and somehow Chipshop managed to talk Jani and Hanna into offering him and the future Mrs Chipshop the marital bed. How could a woman be so drunk that she'd accompany Chippy to a boudoir…and shut the door!! (Quick aside:- Chipshop maintains that earlier on this year he was actually pulled at a club in London by a posh bird who took him back to her place and used him as her 'bit of rough' for the night….the full story in fact is that she was so pissed she got back to her place, threw up and fell asleep on the floor…..leaving Chippy to perform an 'unsavoury act' upon her in absence of her consciousness. Poor woman!!!)
Frankie maintains that during the course of Chipshop's …erm…liaison…with the fortunate young lady that he (Frankie) was woken several times from his well deserved slumber out in the living room by Chipshop passing wind with such gargantuan ferocity that a closed bedroom door, a no doubt soiled duvet and Frankie's perforated eardrums were not enough to guarantee him a comfortable night's sleep.

Two devilishly handsome portraits of everyone's favourite streetpunk romeo:- Lord Chipshop of Mongleton.

With a plane to catch the next day at lunchtime there wasn't a lot of time set aside for a nice lay in. Haystacks awoke on his bunk bed and thought his luck was in when he turned to see Jani lying recumbent in just his boxer shorts on a fold out bed with his pretty wife Hanna bouncing up and down on top of him. It was only then that he realised that Hanna was giving Jani a bit of a kicking trying to wake the drunken bugger up cos she'd just made everyone breakfast.

There was enough time for a quick scoff, a shower and then it was airport time. (Quick note:- Hanna has just been accepted into the Superyob On Tour Hall of Fame for Services to Scoff. She joins Hedgy from On File's wife Debbie for the quality of the food based hospitality shown to the 'Yob boys when on their travels.)

All that remained was heartfelt thanks to their hosts for the whole shooting match and then the boys were in their taxi back to Tampere airport. They all felt that they'd crammed so much into their two days….another Superyob success story. As they disembarked at the airport and Frankie entered into his usual financial shenanigans with the lady cabbie, they soberly considered the fact that they still had a tortuous journey home to undertake. All being well, Uffe's mate would meet them in Sweden and they could spend a few hours having a beer or two in Nykøping and see a bit of the city before heading home….so maybe not that bad.
The flight from Tampere was the usual affair:- boring, hard seats in the departure lounge and Frankie getting more and more agitated as take off approached. What starts as him checking the departures board every 4 minutes normally culminates in a mad charge through the gate when the boarding is announced: pushing people out of the way and scowling at the people on the security barriers.
Fifty minutes in the air and then they were back in Sweden at about 4p.m local time. Frankie had tried ringing Uffe on his mobile before they left Finland but no joy. Uffe had said that he was going fishing all day with his father but he'd make sure that someone was there to look after them. No-one was there. Frankie tried phoning the Ultima Thule HQ but all he got was a message telling them to try Uffe's mobile number. Oh shit!!!! The next 14 hours suddenly looked a very, very long time for our weary travellers. As with a lot of cheapo airlines these days, the airports they fly you to are nowhere near where they say they are. (I'm sure there is an EasyJet one which is actually in a different country to where it says it is!!!!) They're usually small internal domestic airports or ex-military airports. Being fair, Nykøping itself is only 15 minutes away in a taxi, but that didn't make the next 14 hours seem any less daunting. The lads decided to have a sarnie, a cup of tea and a ponder, so they had lunch outside the airport on a very uncomfortable bench and discussed their options. They could sit here and wait:- hoping that Uffe's mate might be late or realise what he was supposed to be doing and come and rescue them. (Repeated calls to Uffe and the studio gave them no joy.) They could go into town and enjoy what Nykøping had to offer. Trouble was that had loads of gear and where were they gonna hang out til 4a.m when they would have to return to the airport? They could resign themselves to a really bad 14 hours and get on with it….they had a shop with beer and supplies, some newspapers and books and a brave hope that they wouldn't kill each other by the time they got on the plane.
They sort of did all three. They checked the bus times into town and gazed longingly at the occasional taxi shooting off with their passengers towards civilisation, knowing that if they themselves undertook the trip they'd just get depressed trundling around an unfamiliar town with nothing to do but look after the gear and have the odd sit about. They earnestly gave every newcomer a pleading look that said, 'Please be Uffe's mate…please…'. They checked the shop for supplies…there was beer, chocolate and cheese rolls…they'd be alright for a while cos it didn't shut til midnight.
As afternoon turned to dusk to twilight, the enormity of their predicament slowly perched wearily on their shoulders. They were buggered!!!. They'd just have to make the best of it here and front it out til morning. Unsurprisingly, Chipshop and Haystacks suggested that perhaps getting drunk might somehow alleviate the boredom and shake their combined feelings of gloom. Having no takers meant that there was more beer for them, so they set off to stock up with tinnies. Now Sweden is a strange country when it comes to alcohol. Like other Scandinavian countries, it contains rather a lot of glorious pissheads who, because of the inflated booze prices forced upon them by a government desperate to discourage such mass pissheadery, choose to render themselves blind and paraplegic on occasions from drinking home made moonshine. This meant that your average thirsty Brit who happens upon Sweden and doesn't really worry about blind alkies stumbling around in the surrounding forests, is right royally shafted when it comes to getting a beer. Not only does it cost a bleeding fortune for a can of beer, it hasn't got any beer in it!!!! The Swedes don't drink it…they're all off their tits on hooch…so the poor parched tourist used to a 99p can of Stella from the offie is presented with a 3 quid can of yellow water with about 3 percent alcohol in it.
Realising this, Haystacks and Chippy did the maths and realised they'd just have to drink even more to attain the necessary level of drunkenness to cope with a cold night on a hard airport floor.
The boys commandeered a table and some chairs in the check-in lounge and, as the skies darkened and the temperature dropped, more and more travellers in the same boat congregated in the same miserable hall. Buying 8 cans at a time seemed a good idea to the 2 overweight boozers. Trouble was though, the yellow liquid's only noticeable effect on the pair of them was to send them off in search of the khazi with alarming regularity. After feasting on chocky bars and Pringles for a while it soon dawned on them that there were others present with the same plan as them. They responded accordingly and trotted off to the shop and bought every remaining can of beer in the place…including the stuff the woman found hiding in the storeroom which was still warm.
As the hours ticked slowly by, the yellow liquid began to have another effect (apart from wearing out the carpet between their table and the bog). It started to make them behave like big fat kids. After co-attempting the Telegraph crossword and coming last from 4, Chipshop resorted to one of his more favourite pastimes…..blowing off. Ace had curled himself up in a ball with his hood up trying to get some shut eye. Frankie alternated between striding around with his customary scowl, smoking in the little purpose built shed in the check-in area and reading the paper. Haystacks and Chipshop continued to quaff awful beer, stuff themselves with cheese and onion Pringles and giggle to each other like imbeciles every time Chipshop trumped. Matters reached a distressing low when a poor girl who had lain down to try to sleep on a bench seat, inadvertently strayed into Chippy's fall out zone and was seriously assaulted by a foul trouser cough aimed at her by Chippy from his bar stool a matter of feet from her delicately prostrate head.
It eventually happened….the shop closed and then the beer ran out….Fatigue gripped Haystacks and he attempted to make himself comfortable on the cold floor with a rolled up coat as a pillow. It only seemed like he'd been asleep a matter of seconds before slumber was cruelly torn from his frame by a crouching Chipshop loudly dropping his guts millimetres from the Haystacks visage. Chippy scurried off howling with laughter as Haystacks sat bolt upright to see a large room full of people staring at him and no doubt wondering why his stout countryman had broken wind on his face. Too tired even to vomit he lay back down and went back to sleep.
Come 5a.m the check-in hall burst into some semblance of life. The flight back to London was due to leave at 6.50a.m, so as the book-in desks opened, a healthy influx of passengers started arriving. Our thoroughly miserable foursome mustered what remained of their energy and dragged themselves into the queue for checking in. By 6a.m they'd got rid of their bags and were ensconced in the restaurant going through cups of tea like a Ferrari. Pay once and then help yourself…so they did. Problem was, that much tea in such a short space of time had a similar effect to the previous night's pants beer, and the queuing and waiting about for boarding was regularly punctuated with trips to water the horses.
As departure time neared, Frankie sprinted off as usual, as if hell bent on having the pilots seat. There was a short delay at passport control and he couldn't get on the plane quick enough….sucking on his cough sweets and squirting his Otravine up his hooter as he went. The plane left on time and within minutes they were all fast asleep….even a cramped airplane seat seeming like heaven compared to the mind and arse numbing 14 hours they'd just had…the whole flight just flew by…arf arf. Highlight of this journey was Chipshop finally getting his butt trumpet under control and generously replacing it with some of the most outrageous snoring ever witnessed by Western civilisation. People coming onto the plane were visibly shaken by this roaring monster who had lapsed into unconsciousness seconds after his worn out bum had hit the seat. No-one sat anywhere near him…strangely.

They and their guitars got home safely…and that was it. The Haystacks Vitesse wound its weary way home along the M11 via Frankie's neck of the woods with it's tired but happy passengers aboard and then….

…..they had to go to Norway in December and do the same thing all over again…..

THE END

 

Just a little add on bit to the Finland story. here is a translated version of the review of the gig done by Finnish Magazine/Webzine 'Chambers Magazine'. For anyone brave enough to attempt to read the Finnish version (or from any of our Finnish friends who want to correct any of the translation) go HERE. Thanks to Jani's sister Veera for the translation.

Superyob, Rejected, Common Voice, Angry Old Man & Fuck You Youth, The Hoist

Laterna, Tampere 23rd Aug. 2003

We drove to Tampere on time on Saturday afternoon from Jyväskylä where were the night before a bit more metallic hardcore stuff offered for all sorts of geezers and sweaty bastards. Journey was interesting 'cause I haven't been driving that road ever before. Again I had an opportunity to see some new landscapes in Finland. I should visit Lapland again sometime soon... Journey didn't go that smoothly all the time 'cause on the highway 9, from Orivesi to Muurame, they were repairing the safety and that is a major part on the road from Turku to Kuopio. When we arrived nearby the centre of Tampere the unmentionable Ford-Wizard announced that he was going to leave to Lahti right after the gig, though he had place to sleep and everything. (I'm not bitter or anything) We didn't let that minor thing disturb us, instead as mature adults we knew what to rationally and without panicking. On Sunday morning we took a bus to Lahti. Early evening went nicely watching football, eating and drinking koskenkorva and mineral water. After visiting several pubs we got to Laterna on time. Quite a lot of people were there already, though it was quite early. Cheap happy hour beer was pouring from the droughts in to pints to be paid by thirsty baldheads. If the prize of beer is lower by the beginning of next year I have to low my pants on the same pace, that rapidly the lovely beer was destroying my possible brain cells.
The Hoist started the whole evening, which I haven't heard a sound from (the famous Barrel Syndrome). Band's playing sounded melodic and catchy Streetpunk/Oi-rock 'n roll stuff but towards the end the playing tired a bit. They said that guitars were bad too, but I don't understand a thing about that. It would be nice to hear more from this band for example in a form of some studio material so you would get much clearer picture of The Hoist. The band's average age was obviously much higher than the audiences, but that didn't make any difference….what ever that means?! Ten points for the beard of the guitarist's. I want a beard like that too.
Next up were much more familiar band called Angry Old Man & Fuck You Youth. The gig was all together very easygoing. Great punk songs, especially cover track called Blitzkrieg Bop was guaranteed to get people going. Though there had been a wobbling mass of people in front of the stage quite a while with a brains of mentality.
Another band which I haven't ever heard from was Common Voice. I missed that one so if anyone has something to tell me about the gig or any information at all about the band, the information is more than welcome. There was a good reason for missing this band 'cause we were babbling stuff with guys from Rejected, who were number four on the playing list.
And blimey what a set they had! Apparently pissed off by the crappy questions, they let everything out, the whole set was intense rocking all the way. As a cover song we heard yet another Bruiser's song called 'Bloodshed' and a bunch of the hits of the band.
When I heard that Superyob is going to play in Tampere, Finland, I didn't have any reaction whatsoever 'cause my vision of the band was totally blurred. But the other bands gave a clear vision of what was about to come. When I took a peek at Superyob's website I was absolutely sure that I was going to go to Tampere. I didn't bother to download the music samples, but many said that they were great. The four piece Superyob flew (or how ever they got here) to Finland to play only one gig like The Warriors did last November. Maybe this is going to be some sort of a tradition in Tampere and that would be nice. The picture that I got from Superyob was strong, Business-like punk rock: I can't analyze that any better. But they kicked hard. Superyob's singer looked like he was 70 (rumours said that he is only 57), but the show was great all the way. Although Superyob are fairly unknown, people were on the dancefloor all the time and were dancing the night away. I got myself confused when I said "Very nice gig" to the singer...hope he didn't think that I have some weird thoughts. Evening was a success and there wasn't any kind of trouble or messing around. Black eyes were avoided and on these gigs there is no need to worry that someone's hair is going to get stuck between the door. If you want, please take a look at www.superyob.com.

CHECK OUT OUR 2003 GERMAN JOLLY UP WITH ON FILE HERE

'ome page