Signs of recovery? Not when it’s every man for himself

I don’t pay any attention to the seemingly endless roll-call of financial experts and economists dredged up by political parties and the media to gaze into their crystal balls and offer pearls of wisdom about the recession.

My view is that if they didn’t see the mother of all financial storms coming then they can’t be relied upon to predict how bad it will be or how long it will last.

The FTSE may have risen a few points recently but does anyone in the real world outside the City or Westminster honestly believe we are seeing any ‘green shoots of recovery’?

I only use that lazy cliché because I’m so sick of hearing the phrase bandied around by people shielded from the harsh economic realities of Britain in July 2009.

People with protected pension funds or on huge bonuses or commenting from the comfort of a BBC studio in London.

Recovery? Do me a favour. The UK is going to hell in a hand-cart and I can see precious little being done to minimise the casualties.

Take, for example, my brother Matthew. He’s 32, single, and a window fitter. He works hard and he’s very good at what he does.

And right now he’s the dictionary definition of how the recession has kicked the you-know-what out of the working man.

At the start of the year Matt was working in London building a new school for a company based in Cannock.

If truth be told, he’d rather not be working away from home but needs must when the Devil vomits on your oatcakes.

Inevitably, a bloke from the Potteries working in The Smoke incurs diesel costs, lodgings and tube fares –all of which, crucially, can’t be deferred.

Matt became increasingly concerned that he hadn’t been paid as promised but was told time and time again that there was nothing to worry about.

After 12 weeks, numerous telephone calls and no less than three visits to the firm’s headquarters, the boss finally strolled out of his office to tell him the company was going into liquidation and he wouldn’t be getting a penny of the £2,000 he was owed.

This left my brother with no work and two months’ worth of bills to pay.

To add insult to injury the same bloke who had strung him along for three months was trading again the following week, from the same building, through a sister company with a slightly different name to the firm that went bump.

Matt being Matt, he kept his worries to himself and begged, borrowed and scraped together the money he owed.

He then began sub-contracting for another firm, based in Cheshire, working on a variety of building projects in London and Leicestershire.

Three weeks ago he quit. Up until now he has been paid £1,100 of the £3,000 he is owed for work he completed months ago.

To date, excuses for non-payment have included the boss being on holiday and a woman in the firm’s accounts department being off with swine flu.

All the while Matt has a mortgage to pay, repayments for his van to keep up, and all the other household bills we know and love so well – not to mention the stress of wondering where his next pay packet is coming from.

After a few weeks in limbo, he has just started work up at the University Hospital of North Staffordshire and has been promised he will be paid fortnightly.

Fingers crossed, then.

There are people a lot worse off than my brother – something which Matt often reminds me.

People with families and young children who have been made redundant or treated just as shabbily by bean-counters only interested in the short-term and self-preservation.

The sad thing is that at a time when our glorious Prime Minister is telling us we should all be pulling together, it’s actually every man for himself.

If there was any justice then the bloke who owes my brother two grand would have the Mercedes he drives impounded until he had paid off all his creditors and he would be barred from running a business ever again.

The reality is there is very little protection for the most vulnerable members of the UK’s workforce and the kinds of sharp practices that have always been used by businesses are even more prevalent now the credit bubble has burst.

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The night my rock heroes reigned at The Brit

Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora at The Britannia Stadium in August 2000.

Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora at The Britannia Stadium in August 2000.

While thirty-odd thousand people were enjoying Toploader’s first song, yours truly was waiting patiently back-stage.

I was watching Richie Sambora, who had arrived only minutes earlier in a blacked-out V-reg Mercedes, meeting members of the Bon Jovi fan club.

As he headed back inside the stadium a bloke heckled him: “Richie, I’ve got a guitar here that we’re raffling off for a children’s hospice charity. Will you sign it for us?”

“Sure, man,” the big guy responded in a kind of Joey-from-Friends accent, shaking the fella’s hand and squeezing past the mean-looking guards in yellow T-shirts.

Seconds later, I too was whisked through the kind of security I imagine surrounds the SAS head-quarters in Hereford for a face to face interview with Jovi’s lead guitarist.

Wearing a white T-shirt, brown combat trousers and boots, he stood up as I entered the tiny hospitality suite and extended his hand.

“Sc’use the leftover food,” he said, motioning to a half-eaten bowl of pasta. “Take a seat. You want anything?”

At this point, my worst fear was that I was about to discover that one of my idols was a self-obsessed idiot with an ego bigger than his bank balance.

But, though tall and tanned like you’d expect for a multi-millionaire musician, Richie Sambora was, mercifully, a hell of a nice guy.

Down-to-earth, attentive, and witty – he made the interview a breeze and went out of his way to ensure I was given enough time as a frantic American PR woman hovered over us.

No, he doesn’t get nervous before gigs, he assured me. Neither does he or any of the band drink before or during a show.

“Not like the good old days man,” he smiles, sipping a pint of what looked distinctly like lager.

Gone are the girls, girls, girls, days of the Slippery and New Jersey tours.

“Most of us are married now and Jon and Dave have kids,” explains Richie. “Hell, we had a great time before Aids and all those social ills. Then you get money, of course, and you realise you can get sued,” he laughs.

The Crush tour differs from previous monstrous Bon Jovi journeys because it is paced differently, accord-ing to Richie.

“We leave more time free these days to keep our own sanity,” he says.

So is he amazed the band is still filling stadiums across the globe 14 years after the album that first rocketed them to stardom?

“Sure,” he says. “Every day. But then I look back at the amount of touring we’ve done and what goes into making our records and I can understand it a little better.

“For example, we write about 60 songs for a record and then choose 13 or 14 for the final cut. The rest don’t make it but we’re then able to choose quality for the fans. It just goes to prove there’s no substitute for hard work, my friend.”

So why is it that Bon Jovi are still together making records when so many of their peers have gone to the wall?

“Oh man,” he says. “If I had the answer to that one then you and I could bottle it and sell it and we’d make a million dollars. I do think, however, that it has something to do with where we came from, where we grew up.

“We’ll never forget that. Jon said the other day that this band is way past ever splitting up. We’ve grown up together man. We’re real close friends who just get together when we want to make a record. Simple as that.”

Richie then went on to say that he thought the band would be back in the UK on tour again next year.

At that point frantic American PR woman insists my time is up.

“You coming up to the bar?” says Richie, referring to the on-stage bar for VIP guests.

“Am I?” I ask PR woman.

Before she can answer Richie stands up and says: “You make sure he comes on stage with us.”

So she did.

Moments later and Jon Bon Jovi was climbing on to the aforementioned bar mid-way through One Wild Night and giving me a high-five. Of course, the concert cameras zoomed in on the action and for the 60 seconds JBJ was up there my pasty, ecstatic face was plastered all over the giant TV screen.

Needless to say I was on a high when I melted back into the crowd 15 minutes later.

The boys were at their brash, polished best last night. Launching straight into Livin’ On A Prayer and You Give Love A Bad Name.

Nothing like starting as you mean to go on is there?

The set was a mixture of old and new. An irresistible cocktail of Jovi anthems and ballads, spiced up with enough material from the new album to keep it fresh and exciting.

Who am I trying to kid? They could have got up there and played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and I’d have hailed it a masterpiece.

In my opinion Bon Jovi are one of the world’s top acts.

They can play and sing live with the best of ’em. And they give two-and-a-half hours of sheer value for money.

You can’t help but marvel at Richie’s mastery of whichever guitar he picks up. Keyboardist David Bryan and drummer Tico Torres are the background troopers who never put a foot wrong.

And then there’s Jon. He only has to curl his lip and the crowd goes nuts. Covering more ground than a Premiership referee and sweating like a stuck pig, he always delivers the goods. And by the way – have you noticed how he never ages?

Bon Jovi were superb last night. How do I know?

Because a colleague who shall remain nameless went to the show with the serious intention of hating every last minute of it.

In the small hours of this morning, he admitted clapping his hands and singing along to Bad Medicine and, through gritted teeth, said he’d enjoyed himself. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. As he said, he has a reputation to think of…

That’s why if you look up the dictionary definition of smug today, you’ll find my name next to it.

And so, Jon Bon Jovi and his cohorts continue to fill stadiums the world over – much to the annoyance of trendies who wouldn’t know a good band if they fell over one.

Last night’s gig at the Britannia was my 15th Bon Jovi concert – made all the more special because my wife was in the audience for the first time. Not because she was a fan you understand – until last night that is.

To see them in my home town was great but more importantly, surely a portent of things to come.

You see, it’s one thing for us to host whimsical events such as the Summer In The City with all their teeny-bopper appeal, but attracting the likes of Bon Jovi to the Potteries is undoubtedly a coup which should put the stadium on the touring map for top bands who play live rather than mime through their sets.

Bon Jovi are far from everyone’s cup of char. But like ’em or loathe ’em, they’re a quality act with 16 years of touring and album sales in excess of 60 million under their belts.

And anyone who thinks they simply faded away and took their bad haircuts with them after the success of Slippery When Wet needs to wake up and smell the coffee.

For while fine bands like Guns ‘n’ Roses were pressing the self-destruct button in the early 90s, the four original members of the New Jersey Syndicate have continued to reinvent themselves and still manage to cling on to and even broaden their fan base.

A mickey-taking colleague told me the other day that he had heard metal was making a comeback.

I just smiled ruefully, because Jovi fans like myself know it never really went away.