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Zzzzzz...

Gareth closes his eyes in the vain hope that when he opens them he won't be surrounded by a bunch of old men slaughtering classic tracks. Dream on, my son.

Dave, percussing

The amount of multi-tasking this man does in the band suggests he's a bit too in touch with his feminine side. Singer, drummer, percussionist, frontman, sideman, wit, raconteur and short, fat w**nker. Apparently, Mr and Mrs Nicholson's son was abducted by fairies at birth and replaced with a hideous little pixie baby. They got their son back, but decided to keep the pixie baby anyway and call it Dave.

Mark, veteran grumpy old git

No band is complete without the eggshell thin ego of the chief plank-spanker. Charged with its possession currently is the be-ponytailed Mark. In due course, when the last vestiges of his dwindling pate have disappeared, the ponytail will be severed and made into a high quality example of the syrup makers art. When quizzed about the said rug, he will be able to answer in all honesty that it is his own hair.

Dr Evil nails the bottom end

Dear old Colin. Brought into OTR because he's shorter, balder and older than everybody else in the band. The fact that he could play bass was a bonus, really. Mark often likes to stand near Colin and swish his ponytail in a provocative manner. Colin knows revenge is a dish best served cold and secretly polishes his secateurs.