This is a test. A whole series of horrible things are about to happen to you and the gig is five minutes away. Can you cope? Do you know the right answers? Paul Colbert doesn't either, but he's quite clever at making things up..

The support band is asking to borrow your gear. You say a) Yes, b) No, c) Maybe?

Well it has to be C, doesn't it. The problem with a) is that it's all very generous and communal like, but what do you make of a band that turns up with absolutely nothing. They've got to be a bit suspicious, and if they say they've just had the whole lot ripped off/lost/delayed at customs then they're clumsy or stupid, or both, and should not be trusted with your gear. B) presents a different problem — can you manage without a support, and will the paying audience put up with it? Also, what will you say if the day comes when you need to borrow something and you just happen to recognise a face from that spurned support band? C). The generally accepted rule appears to be this — never lend something that you can't replace if it gets broken. So if you've got a spare guitar, you might consider letting the support strummer tackle it. But if there's anything which could impair your set if it gets busted, don't let it out of your sight. The possible exception to this is where the support band has brought its gear, but due to difficulties of stage size, venue, etc, would simply find it much easier to use yours than set up their own. Then if disaster really puts its foot through your guitar amp, you can haul their's out of the van.

You have a heckler who you would like to kill, maim and torture, but you'll settle for shutting him up. Do you a) humiliate him, b) swear at him, c) ignore him?

C). Hecklers can smell fear, he will only try harder. B). Brilliant, you've just set him a challenge. Your only hope is to (a) get the audience on your side and humiliate the bastard. A drunk thinks everybody is laughing at his jokes, so you'll have to prove that everybody is in fact laughing at him. And don't bother with frighteningly subtle wit; the audience may get the message, he won't.

"Hi, you're in a band aren't you? You playing anywhere?" "Yeah, here, tonight." "But so are we..."

Double booking's great fun isn't it. Presuming there's no paperwork, no proof, and no promoter do you a) toss a coin over who plays, b) have a fight over who plays, c) share the bill?

B) is pointless as you're going to do a great gig with a black eye and a pissed off band heckling from the front row. A). Fair, but what if you lose?

C) seems the most sensible solution, one of you acting as a support and splitting the money (providing you can both agree that the promoter hasn't set you up to do exactly that). Lets face it, the chances that either of you were going to make a profit are very slim. Instead both of you will have incurred considerable expense getting there, so you might as well share the dosh to offset some of it. As for who goes on first, it's polite practice to split the cash exactly down the middle as recompense for one of you suddenly becoming a support act. Lots of other considerations come into it — who's got the best gear, largest audience, etc — but we reckon that if one band has managed to get an A&R man along, general musicianly magnanimity ought to let them headline.

A triple booking is slightly tougher, usually arising when the main act has brought along its own support unaware that another band has already been booked for that job. The sums become more complex, but it should still be possible to squeeze three bands into the evening... providing you're sure one of them isn't entirely populated by divvies who couldn't tell their arses from a day of the week.

Thirty minutes before going on stage you have the most furious band row since Buddy Holly grabbed the controls of the plane. A) you carry on as if nothing has happened, b) cancel the gig because it's obviously going to be a total disaster, c) suggest that everybody just calms down, has a few drinks, and sorts it out in a more reasonable mood at the next rehearsal?

We say a) reasons later. B) if you cancel you're admitting that you can't control your own band, and if it's one particular member who's caused the argument, he will always be held to blame for wrecking the show. Musical and personal differences can be sorted, but a grudge goes deep. It's a bad deposit in the soul bank, man. C). All that will happen is that you'll get drunk, the problem will be half sorted only to reappear later, and the performance will be half cut, and half grumpy. Surprisingly enough a) was the favoured solution of the old gigsters we asked. "We played some of our best gigs when we were angry with each other," was one response. A good set needs emotion, and fury can be just as driving as unalloyed glee. Perhaps the show, played in this mood, might crystallize what the argument was all about. However if it all goes spiffingly well, beware of forgetting all about that disagreement in the gleam of the post-gig lig.

With an hour to go the bum, bloody, bum, soddit, soddit sequencer will NOT sync with the drum machine for the third number and you really don't want to drop the song. This leaves you with the options of, a) reprogramming, b) phoning round friends and accomplices in the hope they can get a replacement machine down to the gig, c) doing without and filling in as best you can?

Put b) into action immediately, preferably not wasting time on the phone calls yourself, but then forget about it. Act on the assumption that it's not going to arrive (it almost certainly won't), and if it does, it's a bonus. A). Unless you are very, very skilled you will make a mistake: there's just too much pressure. That close to the deadline you ought to be concentrating on the whole set, not one line in one number. C). If you're worth your salt, you ought to be able to come up with a played alternative. If one line is so important that the whole song falls apart, then you've got problems with the song, not the sequencer. Don't try to copy exactly what the machine does, chances are it will be impossible anyhow. Come up with a fingered part that complements the track. Don't spend ages sorting it out, keep it simple, direct and logical (so you won't forget it). Make sure everyone in the band knows what you're going to do, work out separate count-ins if they're needed. Consider repositioning the song within the set if you think the changes are going to interfere with the pace. Only one member of the band should change what he's doing, don't split the part across a couple of players. If one of you screws up, the rest can cover, if two of you screw up, you're in real trouble.

The gig is finished, the punters went away happy, and so did the promoter who booked you... with all the money. A) You put it down to experience and vow never to return to the slaggy old dump, b) forget about it for now, but start chasing the prompter the very next day, c) track down the barman, wherever he is hiding, and don't leave until you've got the cash out of him?

A). You've been walked over, okay life is tough, but can you risk everyone else finding out what a soft touch you are? C) If a separate promoter arranged the gig then chances are the barman, and the manager, are as innocent as you. They may have been ripped off as well. Make sure they know exactly what's happened, but harassing them for the cash will only provoke angry, perhaps violent scenes, and get you marked down as unprofessional troublemakers who couldn't sort out their own contract. You won't be asked back, and word will spread on the pub managers' grapevine. So we say b) is the best bet. It's the promoter you're after and the only area where you have any clout. You can spread his unreliability on your own bush telegraph.

Hallelujah, an A&R man has finally agreed to come to tonight's gig, and you proudly tell the doorman to put his name on the guest list. Except there isn't one, and it's too late to get back to your record company wallah. Do you, a) deputise a member of the band's entourage to wait at the door until the A&R geezer arrives, b) let him buy his own ticket, after all, he'll get it back on expenses and he wouldn't come all this way only to turn round at the door, c) buy tickets, leave them with the doorman and ask him to present them to your honoured guest when he arrives?

B). Of course any record company exec can afford to buy a ticket, but there is such a thing as the 'sod that' factor. "I've come all the way from the other side of London to see this band, and they can't even put me on the guest list. Sod that." You can play with an A&R man's money, but not his pride. C) are you really prepared to trust someone who shaves the backs of his hands to give the envelope to the right person? A) is the only safe option. It gives you the chance to explain what's happened, to pay the A&R Soul through the door if you wish, or let him get his own ticket then "at least let us buy you a drink to make up for it..." You're already halfway there.

You've arrived at the pub, set-up all the gear, soundchecked, and not one single member of the public has come to hear. Do you a) abandon the gig and accept a reduced fee, b) use it as valuable rehearsal time c) play the gig as normal?

A) is the easy way out if you're knackered, and b) might seem a sensible use of time, but they both forget one person — the genius (promoter/landlord) who booked you. Okay, so you may not be the world's greatest draw, but the total absence of audience could be his publicity cock-up. If you don't play he'll assume you're crap, and that's why the audience stayed away. Wave bye-bye to any future bookings. Anyhow, gigs are supposed to be fun. If you actually don't feel keen about playing together when all the instruments are laid out in front of you, then there are bigger problems abroad than a zero take on the gate.