The 2008 Replicas Tour in 10 Riveting Chapters:
One man's mission to see the last 10 shows of the UK Replicas Tour
Chapter 5
Wolverhampton
I slept great in Norwich, having walked so far earlier in the morning. Six hours of snoozing was all I could do. Checkout was 10 am and the offered breakfast stopped being served at 9:00. As I threw on some clothes I became aware of what was taking place outside. From the second floor window, I saw trees sway violently as rain fell in sheets. It looked like it was going to be a wet walk down the hill to the train station.
I stumbled into the dining area adjoined by a TV viewing room. Four older people, all staff, watched the satellite pictures of what looked like a hurricane passing over the eastern coast of England as TV reporters conveying the damage were being buffeted by the elements.
My amicable host greeted me and asked if I wanted the full breakfast, which in England means the hot breakfast, as opposed to mere cereal, coffee and toast. The answer was clear. I would have the hot breakfast. Standard B&B fare: baked beans on toast, orange juice, ham, sausage, toast and bacon.
As I read last week's USA Today I was given on the plane, a woman appeared into the dining area with a broom and I was given a mild but effective scolding for tracking in dirt. Looking down I was surprised how much I did track in. I recounted to her my four mile walk earlier in the morning which must have been the culprit.
As I ate a yummy and filling breakfast, my amicable host wandered in to ask how it was, and how I was liking Norwich. Deep inside the pleasantries and stern correcting of pronunciations I detected an unmistakable Basil Fawlty condescension. The comparison was too real as he talked about his mistrust of the Europeans who stayed there. It could also have been that he gave me way too good a deal on the room, a fact that he may have discovered all too late. Despite the fact that other B&Bs were all full, I never saw one other guest at the Marlborough House. I was beginning to understand why!
The walk to the train station was dry, short and downhill. At the info desk I asked a friendly Graham Garden look-alike if there would be any rail replacement buses on the way to Birmingham.
He humorously said, "No, unless you want to take a bus." That's exactly what Graham would have said. I was glad it would be an easy journey to Birmingham. But getting to Wolverhampton was the most dreaded part of this whole tour. The logistics were sketchy at best. After much research, I couldn't find one B&B in Wolverhampton. And even if the trains were still running to nearby Birmingham after the show, there was no place to stay for under $150 a night.
Upon looking at the train schedules out of Wolverhampton, I formed a plan. The first train out of Wolverhampton to Birmingham New Street Station after the Numan show left at 4:45 am. I would simply hang with the Numanoids after the show and wait at the Wolverhampton Station until the 4:45 am train. Once in Birmingham I would hop the 9:00 am train to the next show in Cambridge, sleeping on the way.
The train ride to Birmingham was beautiful. The sun shone over countless farmers fields. A man across the aisle talked on the phone with his friend about all the damage from the storm he'd seen near the south coast of England. The female ticket taker on the train was the cutest in all of the UK. She was new and had never seen a pass like mine that allowed for unlimited travel in the UK. We were intrigued with each other.
It was good to be in Birmingham again. I spent many good times here with Chris and Tina going to dinner and family parties with them. At New Street Station I left the platforms for the Left Luggage desk to drop off my wheeled duffel bag and backpack. I found a gift shop and purchased some postcards and a silver pen.
Back on the platform I hopped a train to Wolverhampton 15 miles away. It was a local Metro train filled with the workers of the day going home. One young man in construction workers clothes started blasting his music loudly. Several people asked him in vain to turn it down, but the Metro is lawless. This train runs so quickly and efficiently, there is no way to get a conductor on board quickly to handle a situation. Indeed, in three more stops, the young music-lover was off the train.
My first glimpse of Wolverhampton was impressive. It was a bustling town both in people and in windy weather. It had stopped raining but the skeletons of what used to be umbrellas littered the city streets. In Norwich, Jeanette said it was only a 15 minute walk to the Wulfrun Hall from the train station, but I was still a bit lost. Luckily maps of the city were posted along the sidewalk and I utilized them frequently.
Finally on a corner I saw a directional sign for the Wulfrun Hall. I made the right off the main street as the sign instructed when I heard a faint shout in the distance. I kept walking when I heard someone behind me again shout, "JIMMM"!
It was my old friend Chris! He was sitting at a pub on that corner when he saw me walk past. Chris told me he was drowning his sorrows because he was never able to get a ticket to the Numan show. He had simply procrastinated too long. I assured him that I would do anything I could, and use any Machman cred to get him inside. But Chris knew he wouldn't be getting in tonight. After catching up on lost years, I wished him the best and quickly walked to get a good spot in the queue.
Kristin Harris and Jeanette were in the front of 10 people. I took my place in the rear and waited. Soon a guy appeared in back of me. We got to talking about all things Numan. He had actually gotten there really early. He was so early he spoke with Gary as he was walking into the building. The guy showed me his ticket which he had autographed.
Before long he had started going off on weird tangents such as David Beckham and how he should be done away with. People around me started to become uneasy. Then he started talking about how he thought about going home. He couldn't afford a hotel and the last train back to Manchester left at 10 pm. I told him that I had a buyer for his ticket if he decided to leave. After taking the train from Manchester and waiting all day in Wolverhampton for the show I didn't imagine he would just give up and go home. But this is exactly what he planned to do. I told him not to move and I left the queue to tell Chris that I had found him a ticket.
I found Chris still drowning his sorrows when I walked in. I told him that The Machman came through for him and I found him a ticket for tonight's show! He followed me down to the queue where my friend, the Beckham-hater, was still standing. This guy suddenly became indecisive about whether he should leave, but finally he relented and sold Chris his ticket. Chris thanked me profusely before going back to finish his lager.
The queue was becoming quite large by now. I caught up with Teresa in the other queue where people picked up their tickets. She assured me that her hometown of Wolverhampton would do Numan proud, and that the Jagged show here in 2006 was incredible.
I found a great spot up front as people filed in. I looked back and was amazed to see how small the place was. It was nice and wide but the back wall seemed really close. As I waited I began talking with those around me. I don't often get the chance to talk with Numanoids face to face! After talking with the group of guys for awhile, I finally noticed that one of them was Richard, the creator of the internet's best Numan website, Numanme. He had given me a few self-made mixes of Numan tracks awhile ago.
Daggers came on. By now I was really looking forward to their shows. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this was the last time they were scheduled to play on the Replicas Tour.
Teresa was right. The Wulfrun Hall crowd went crazy for Gary. The band and Gary had lots of room to move around onstage. I'd seen more young girls in the audience who'd never seen a Numan show before. And tonight did not disappoint.
At one point, a girl threw her underwear on the stage. It landed by Chris who diligently and expediently attached it to his guitar and kept playing. The show was so good, that on the way out the door I could tell others were just has intoxicated by the experience as I was.
The same vendors were outside hawking their surprisingly well-made Numan shirts and hoodies. I stood alone across the street and watched everyone file out. I had time to kill as my train didn't leave town until 4:45 am. I decided to walk around to the street in back where people had gathered to wait for Gary. I met some fans of the NAGNFC site. Also there were Kristin and her mom from Texas as well as a 16-year old Replicant looking dude and his mom who had put them up, fed them and drove them around.
The American contingent finally came to life as Kristin's mom asked how old I was. She couldn't believe I was in my 30s, thinking for sure I was in my 20s and began to lovingly pinch what she called my "babyface". We gave Daggers a cheer as they approached their car right in front of us to drive away into the Wolverhampton night.
It had begun to get seriously chilly. Thankfully it wasn't raining, but the winds from the tail end of the storm were still persistent. I felt bad for Kristin's friend, the Replicant looking dude. He looked the part, but the stylish black-shirted look lacked a jacket.
Numanoids were shuddering for more than one reason when several kids appeared from up this backstreet carrying pipes. Some minor smack talk was exchanged but nothing of note. One persistent young-un had been talked into leaving by his own friends who were no doubt anxious to begin their glorious life of crime and subsequent lack of freedom in the "greybar hotel" as a result.
Like Norwich, Gary would sign anything we wanted, but it was so cold, he would do so from inside the bus.
All too soon, everything was signed and the door to the tour bus was closed. It was only 1:30 am and I now had more than 3 hours to kill. Just up the street, I saw a 1980's theme bar called Reflex. This place was incredible. The walls were adorned with pictures of 80's superstars like David Hasselhoff and Michael Jackson. Rubik's Cubes hung from the ceiling. There was a great dance floor and the music wasn't bad. I sucked down a rare Smirnoff Ice and watched the revelers.
A couple young girls played an electronic 80s trivia game and I proved to be a valuable resource. I knew the place would close soon and I asked the staff if there were any all-night restaurants. I hadn't eaten all day and could eat an entire pizza by myself! I got directions about 4 blocks away where there was a lonely cluster of pizza/kebab shops that were open late.
I saw a couple of tour roadie friends in the bar. One of them who I'd seen on several of Numan's tours sold the T-shirts. As I was talking outside a guy came up to me and asked where I was from with my strange accent. He was enamored to learn I was from New York. He said he was going there soon to study. He walked with me nearly all the way to the eateries and we talked in depth about pop culture in the US and the UK. He broke away at one intersection giving me directions the rest of the way.
The choices here in Wolverhampton in the middle of the night were even better than in Manchester! There was a group of no less than five shops with all kinds of take-out food. They were open until 5 am and were all lonely. Some had one or two chairs to sit in but most were empty.
I picked one friendly looking place which had a sign hawking 10" pizzas for £3. Apparently competition for business was fierce at 2 in the morning. The two guys who ran the place were Turkish and wanted to know everything about New York. They seemed very interested in my travels. Best of all, the pizza was delicious.
I had managed to kill another hour. Just two more to go. It was still cold and windy as I walked to the train station to see if it were open. The front doors were locked, so I walked up and down the rows of glass bus shelters at the nearby coach station. Luckily the custodian let me in as he was cleaning the place. About four others showed up just before their 3:15 am bus left. The automatic doors could only be activated from the inside so I let them in, each time receiving a "Thanks, mate!" for getting them in from the cold.
I walked around the quiet coach station, looking at their impressive historical display about the building. Old pictures showed horses driven through the huge doors instead of buses. The building had been slated for demolition but was saved and added to form the attractive stone and glass structure that stands today.
At 3:30 I saw some activity down at the train station and made my way over. There was no heat as it was an open-air station but it wouldn't be long now. Between platforms I walked up the steps to see some incredible murals depicting different points of history in the town, but at intersecting moments. Victorian dressed guys would look out the window to see a jet fly past, etc. It was an extensive and fascinating hand-drawn display.
At 4:30 am the heated waiting area was opened and I took a seat inside. Unassumingly and without fanfare my long-awaited train arrived into Wolverhampton to take me to Birmingham to pick up my Left Luggage, then on to Cambridge for tonight's show. This would be one of the most memorable days of the entire trip. Thanks to a friendly chap named Paul who liked my website, I was to experience Cambridge in a way most tourists or locals never would. Included in the tour was a stop at Spaceward Studios, where Gary Numan laid down his first tracks exactly 30 years before.