Words of advice, from someone who's obviously a genius, Join Stage Crew.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, Stage Crew would be it.

The long-term benefits of Stage Crew have been consistently misunderstood by punters, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own sarcastic experience.

I will dispense this advice - now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your Stage Crew hires.
Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your Stage Crew hires until they've gone back.
But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself hanging in a light rig and recall in a way you can't grasp now how many gigs you did and how fabulous it really was.
You are not as bored as you imagine.
Don't worry about where the next cable is coming from. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to pull a page three model after 15 pints of Stella.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your gig-obsessed mind, like the unexpected lack of lamps on the shelf backstage.
Rig one thing every day that scares you.
Dress badly.
Be reckless when rigging other people's gear.
Don't put up with people who are reckless when rigging yours.
Patch.
Don't waste your time on dimmers.
Sometimes it all works, sometimes it don't.
The gig is long and, in the end, it's only for 8 hours.
Make up compliments you received. Return the insults.
If you don't succeed in doing this gig, do it again next year.
Keep your old gel plans. Throw away your old gel.
Program.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know when you might pass-out in your room.
The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 when they would give it up. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still haven't.
Get plenty of shit pizza.
Don't be too kind to Alan. You'll hardly miss him when he's gone.
Maybe you'll sleep, maybe you won't.? Maybe you'll get bored, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll enter rehab at 40, maybe you'll dance the nude conga at your 75th University Reunion.
Whatever you do, congratulate yourself far too much and berate others.
Your choices are half alcohol influenced. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy someone else's body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what the lads might think of it. It's probably the only time you ever will.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but on the street with a can of Special Brew.
Ignore the beat, don't ever follow it.
Do not read live magazines, just cut out the pictures and put them on your wall.
Get to know your bar staff. You never know when you'll have to tap them for some beer.
Be nice to your security. They're your best link to the venue and the people most likely to stop you getting your head kicked by a punter when paralytic in the future.
Understand that favourite gigs come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on.
Work hard to bridge the gaps in strength and consistency, because the older you get, the harder it will be to climb ladders like when you were young.
Live in London once, but leave before it makes you a ponce.
Live in Liverpool once, but leave before everything you own gets stolen.
De-rig.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Beer prices will rise. Security will throw you out. You, too, will get a desk crash. And when you do, you'll fantasise that when you were young, prices were reasonable, security couldn't catch you, and desk crashes were NEVER as bad as this.
Respect your stage manager.
Don't expect anyone else to buy you a beer.
Maybe you'll have a huge overdraft. Maybe you'll have a wealthy bird. But you never know when either one might stop getting you pissed.
Don't mess too much with Pizzaman or by the time you're 25 you will look like a football.
Be careful whose cheap booze you get, but be patient with those who supply it. Cheap booze is a form of rip-off. Dispensing it is a way of fishing old stock from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the sell-by date and re-selling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the Stage Crew