It’s been a bit quiet on the gig front this month, or to put it another way, we’ve only had one gig. Unfortunately I’ve had to compensate by getting out more. Some people seem to have got the idea that what I mean by getting out is getting drunk. It doesn’t necessarily follow. In fact I never ever set out to get drunk, though it sometimes does happen as a consequence of my getting out more often.
The Waydown crew met in the Blue Post pub at the back of the 100 Club and it’s fair to say that I wasn’t the only one drinking. It’s also fair to say that after Mel and Chris left, Bernie and I went to another pub, to see if it was still there. It was, but with all these pubs going out of business nowadays you have to keep checking, don’t you?
On the following Monday I found myself at The Inn On The Green where an open mike session was in progress. I left there and went to the Cowshed, on Ladbroke Grove, where I had been told a blues jam was taking place. The last time I’d been in a cowshed I was milking the cows so the name of the pub didn’t inspire confidence. Nor did the blues jam though I did sit in with T-Bone Taylor, who just happened to be there. The equipment was minimal due to the organiser quitting at short notice. I hadn’t realised that blues people have tantrums, but i suppose I’ll have to get used to it.
On the Thursday after that, Bernie and I met up again in Soho to catch a matinee movie – the Coen Brothers’ No Country For Old Men, which was pretty doomy. It drove us to the Coach and Horses for a quick one. There we fell into conversation with Nick and a pleasant afternoon turned into a pleasant evening, while we discussed the state of the music business and Nick mentioned that he welcomed the return of interest in live music. It’s unfortunate that having only one gig this month didn’t confirm this trend in my case, but I agreed that I too felt that young people were starting to play live more often than in the last few years. I set out for home and on the way got a text from T-Bone asking if I was going to make it to The Cowshed for the jam. Foolishly I agreed.
It turned out to be even more of a fiasco than the previous week, but somehow we stayed long enough to have to take a night bus home. It was quite a relief to go to the Inn On The Green on the following Sunday for the monthly gig. We played in the bar as the main room was the scene of a ten-band battle of teenage musicians. As the average age of our band is about 62, we obviously didn’t qualify. However we did entertain a few of the other bands suppporters for a while.
On Wednesday I had to go for a follow up to my cardiac stent operation. I think they wanted to know that I was still alive. The actual examination took less than five minutes but the waiting to be seen took an hour and threequarters. I did have time to ask the doctor how she was and she said she was healthier than me. I take that as a good sign, because nobody should listen to a doctor who’s not well. Anyway she seemed to think I was doing alright and that I should carry on taking the tablets. I decided that the outlook warranted a celebratory drink, which is where I came in.
Great Column – I’m assuming the tablets you’re referring to are Plavix – I’ve had two stents put in in the last year and a half and they always nag me about the tablets. I always think it’s a good sign when I’m still alive – otheres maynot feel the same way; but, then there’s always room for conjecture.
GOD Bless – Richard