Oh dear, my plans went "aglay". I was supposed to wake up, bright and early, wake up my genial host (not my genital host - that's a different gig) and take him to Newcastle to do the first stage of fixing my kitchen ceiling. I managed, instead, to lie in bed, listening to the alarm, occasionally calculating how late we'd be, and then, amazingly, turning it off and sleeping some more.
Eventually, lunchtime came and it was too late. I'd calculated that I should leave Newcastle around 4pm to get to my gig in Nottingham. At lunchtime, there wasn't even time to get to Newcastle for much before 4pm. No point at all. A bit of the planet could be saved today as my 200 mile roundtrip was not going to happen.
So, we had a late lunch, some coffee, a visit from my friend's brother and nephew, who pretended to be disgusted that we were freshly awoken, despite the fact that it was a clear sign that we'd had a good night the night before and that we were catching up on a hefty week of something or other. Then we did some re-attaching of doors, doors that needed some trimming.
Then, joy of joys, as I was getting showered, ready for the night ahead, we discovered we could just get to the Screwfix shop before it closed. We raced over there. Items were bought. It was joyous. Their computers were down, so they had to do it all manually. This went fairly well until we started to hurry things and then they forgot the sanding discs for my new random orbital sander, and then we discovered that we only needed one size of hinge cutter. Essentially, we were now 10 minutes after their closing time and asking them if they could exchange a £10 item for two £3 items. They did it for us with aplomb.
I said that I wanted to buy a pint for the people who were helping us. The guy helping said that this wouldn't be any good to someone who didn't drink. He was probably a muslim. I pointed out that pints don't have to be of alcohol. It was more about the volume for me, than the boozing. A pint of diet coke. Or milk.
It didn't ring his bell.
Ding dong dang.
Anyway, I rushed my friend back to his house, dropped him off and returned to the road to get to my gig in Nottingham. I had a pleasant journey there, and the miles fell away as miles often do.
As I arrived, I took stock of the area. Sneinton. Not very nice looking. The pub looked like it might be deserted. I had to ring the promoter to ensure I was in the right place. He assured me that I was. Ok.
Getting inside, there was a largely deserted pub with some sort of stage and no easy way to plug a guitar in. Out came the guitar amp - I arrived prepared (I also had a car full of tools) - and then we were ready to rock... in comedic terms.
I wasn't sure what would happen. There was a suggestion that the landlord had somehow pre-sold 60 tickets, but we could see no sign of this. There was the promoter, who would be the first act, an MC, me as a middle act and then a headliner. We had to wait for the show to start. A show of a mixed-aged-range audience in a rough pub in Nottingham. How would that go?
Somehow some people materialised. Then some laughs erupted. The show was a goer. There were some heckly types, but they were more muttering than interrupting during the first act.
When I took to the stage, things were different. I actually had a lot of fun with the audience, riffing off the heckles and just messing about with them. I even managed to video this gig, which I really want to see, since there are some moments when I almost lost control of the jabbering crowd, and there were some moments when I was totally in control of channelling the filth pouring from my mind into my body and mouth to create some truly awful, but entertaining (apparently) moments of cheekiness.
Gigs like this don't happen every day.
Still, you have to pack your bags and move on. I did just that and headed back to Reading to stay at a friend's house, ready for Glastonbury ticket buying the next morning. I was joined in bed by the cat. She was definitely trying to spoon with me at one point. Sweet creature.
Quite a mixed day, with many surprises along the way.
Eventually, lunchtime came and it was too late. I'd calculated that I should leave Newcastle around 4pm to get to my gig in Nottingham. At lunchtime, there wasn't even time to get to Newcastle for much before 4pm. No point at all. A bit of the planet could be saved today as my 200 mile roundtrip was not going to happen.
So, we had a late lunch, some coffee, a visit from my friend's brother and nephew, who pretended to be disgusted that we were freshly awoken, despite the fact that it was a clear sign that we'd had a good night the night before and that we were catching up on a hefty week of something or other. Then we did some re-attaching of doors, doors that needed some trimming.
Then, joy of joys, as I was getting showered, ready for the night ahead, we discovered we could just get to the Screwfix shop before it closed. We raced over there. Items were bought. It was joyous. Their computers were down, so they had to do it all manually. This went fairly well until we started to hurry things and then they forgot the sanding discs for my new random orbital sander, and then we discovered that we only needed one size of hinge cutter. Essentially, we were now 10 minutes after their closing time and asking them if they could exchange a £10 item for two £3 items. They did it for us with aplomb.
I said that I wanted to buy a pint for the people who were helping us. The guy helping said that this wouldn't be any good to someone who didn't drink. He was probably a muslim. I pointed out that pints don't have to be of alcohol. It was more about the volume for me, than the boozing. A pint of diet coke. Or milk.
It didn't ring his bell.
Ding dong dang.
Anyway, I rushed my friend back to his house, dropped him off and returned to the road to get to my gig in Nottingham. I had a pleasant journey there, and the miles fell away as miles often do.
As I arrived, I took stock of the area. Sneinton. Not very nice looking. The pub looked like it might be deserted. I had to ring the promoter to ensure I was in the right place. He assured me that I was. Ok.
Getting inside, there was a largely deserted pub with some sort of stage and no easy way to plug a guitar in. Out came the guitar amp - I arrived prepared (I also had a car full of tools) - and then we were ready to rock... in comedic terms.
I wasn't sure what would happen. There was a suggestion that the landlord had somehow pre-sold 60 tickets, but we could see no sign of this. There was the promoter, who would be the first act, an MC, me as a middle act and then a headliner. We had to wait for the show to start. A show of a mixed-aged-range audience in a rough pub in Nottingham. How would that go?
Somehow some people materialised. Then some laughs erupted. The show was a goer. There were some heckly types, but they were more muttering than interrupting during the first act.
When I took to the stage, things were different. I actually had a lot of fun with the audience, riffing off the heckles and just messing about with them. I even managed to video this gig, which I really want to see, since there are some moments when I almost lost control of the jabbering crowd, and there were some moments when I was totally in control of channelling the filth pouring from my mind into my body and mouth to create some truly awful, but entertaining (apparently) moments of cheekiness.
Gigs like this don't happen every day.
Still, you have to pack your bags and move on. I did just that and headed back to Reading to stay at a friend's house, ready for Glastonbury ticket buying the next morning. I was joined in bed by the cat. She was definitely trying to spoon with me at one point. Sweet creature.
Quite a mixed day, with many surprises along the way.
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