Recorded: Maddocks Close, Footscray / Bexleyheath / Leyton / Harborough, Sidcup,
22 (Drums, Acoustic guitar), 27 (Bass) August 1989 - February 1992

Mark Tingley: Lead vocal, Acoustic guitar, Wah wah guitar
Nigel Marvin: Rhythm guitar
John Booker: Bass
Nick Dzielski: Drums


"Laughing at the Boss" was conceived while recovering from glandular fever, brought on by stress from work.

I was forced to take 2 months off after my doctor advised me to leave on health grounds. It wasn't until after my eventual redundancy 18 months later that I finished it as a song.

I wasn't really sure if it was strong enough and left it kicking around for a couple of years before presenting it to new Blob Hotel drummer Nick Dzielski, who at 32, had decided to take up the drums! So in Nick's living room on a hot August afternoon, we carefully honed the rhythm track until we got it on the 31st take.

It was while parking outside Nick's that John Peel announced on his radio show a song by Beat Hotel! My face turned ashen white! It wasn't me but another band, though unluckily for them I never heard their name again, much to my relief!

I took it to John Booker, another new member of the band, and again spent a few hours really getting his part precise. John suggested a bass along the lines of "Another one bites the dust" and I directed him.

Then I asked Nigel to add some guitar, but it needed something else to bolster the overall effect. A couple of years later former Sex Pistols Producer Dave Goodman was showing me his wah wah effects pedal which impressed me so much I borrowed it for "Laughing", giving it it's distinct sound.

Finally I recorded the vocal, put through a flanger pedal for the chorus, furiously cutting my voice in and out for the verses. But it may have sounded better had I recorded two vocals overlapping one another.

After two years and five months, marking the longest ever recording period for a Blob Hotel track, this is probably my favourite recording of all, because it gelled together so well from so many different sources. I find that working together with individuals within a band gets the best out of everyone because each contribution is given special attention and the whole becomes a lot more satisfactory.

The line-up that played on "Laughing at the Boss" was certainly the most contentious. The idea of new members was purely in preparation for Blob Hotel's debut gig at the Tramshed on 28th November 1989. But it didn't quite go according to plan!

After a handful of rehearsals at Woodwharf, Nick announced he was leaving the band. His reason? He was embarrassed by the name Blob Hotel, and afraid of what his friends might think!

Fortunately John Booker managed to get Matt Faiers to replace Nick for the gig. However I fell out with John too, over his lack of commitment to the group, and played the Tramshed under a bit of a cloud. So though I lost both a bassist and a drummer, I thankfully gained the more easy going Matt for the rest of the "Lifetime in a Teatime" album.

I became very disillusioned during my five years working at the Evening Standard. My job working as an assistant on a London newspaper Editorial only came about thanks to my step-Dad Denis' intervention. After that, my promotional prospects ceased because of my lack of connections, uncerimoniously passed over by every 16 year old school leaver for more profitable positions.

It seemed the harder I worked, the more my efforts were ignored, while other members of staff skived off unnoticed. And every time I thought about leaving, they'd give me another wage rise!

Working in an office you got to hear a lot of gossip, but I'd always be the last to find out. No one let on to me about the features Editor getting the Literary Editor pregnant. As for my boss marrying one of her staff, I had no idea they even knew each other!

The actual boss of the song, Bert Hardy, was a fearsome character with a huge hulking frame and big bushy eyes. He basically managed the whole Evening Standard set-up and he always stalked every floor looking deadly serious. From what I could tell, everyone was afraid of him.

On the day I was made redundant I got totally pissed and as I left the building for the very last time, and with the redundancy cheque in my shoe, I caught Berty Hardy in the corridor and shook his hand. "Thanks a lot for my redundancy!" I slurred. The Evening Standard's most frightening character appeared like a startled pig as his face lit up for the first time in five years!!!

The shock of leaving reverberated for days after. I got so completely plastered after six hours of wine and champagne that, combined with receiving a cheque for £6,500 for leaving the job I hated, I suffered a minor breakdown. I was actually drunk for nine days!

I'd phone friends up and either go completely silent, tell them they weren't funny, or praise them! After four days I went into my Mum's bedroom and told her I was frightened of the dark! I returned to the Doctor's again, this time diagnosed with alcoholic poisoning, which came as no surprise considering I wasn't even used to half a shandy, let along the amount still in my system.

When I did recover I vowed never to work in an office again, or drink! From now on I'd concentrate my new found freedom on music.