I thought I’d get the train for a change and set off on foot to the local station. It’s Friday afternoon and it’s raining but not in my heart. I’ve never been one for hats though on days like today I wish I had. Perhaps the urge will strike in later years as it does for some so I’m told. Both my granddads wore a trilby. The trains are not running so I catch the shuttle bus and get away without paying. I’m at Piccadilly Station and I’m early so I settle into reading Richard Dawkins’ ‘the God Delusion’ which I prominently display like a weapon as Christians loiter with intent, fishes on lapels, hymn books in handbags. The book is a bit of a discovery for me, such a wonderfully life affirming liberating energising poke at organised releigion, the games people play on behalf of their god; mostly the Christian one but in truth they’re all as daft as one another. I must get my dad a copy. The station, incidentally, is full of beautiful girls. The train is on time and twenty five stops later I’m in Barrow where I’m met by Mark and Phil [tonight’s promoters]. We get Chinese food at Marks where Ethan, Marks son, treats us to a seriously competent bass rendition of a popular Kings of Leon track the name of which escapes me…it’s either be there or on call or something like. Marks elder son Tom is also a talented footballer, he can juggle a ball across his shoulders and the evidence is up there on you tube…anyway, I digress as ever.
The gig is in an old ship yard Canteen that hasn’t changed much since the seventies [ and probably needs to]. Still there’s a decent sized audience spread out and about and some are seated behind tables. An angular gothic teen asks me if I played with Morrissey; I tell him no and explain that I am the new Morrissey… just like it says in the local paper. It could have been worse. Being the new anyone at my age is kind of cute really. Jon Byrne [who is about half my age] is ‘Barrows answer to Billy Bragg only better’ and opens the evening with a tremulous set of spiky agit- folk complete with stage invasion and sing along air punching audience engagement. He’s known around here for bringing the house down and not eating his greens. He’s on a brief UK tour soon so do try and catch him if you can, tonight he was exhilarating… and that coming from a man typically of great reticence and suspicion. I kid you not. Later on my gig goes off OK, I get rid of a load of CDs even if half the people pay half of what I expected them too its been a good night, so lets leave it at that. Then we’re back at Marks drinking red wine and admiring Phils formative Eraserhead hair on the artwork of his 7inch single of classic 80’s Depeche Modem Styled synth pop. I didn’t actually listen to it, but I did enjoy enjoy jumping to these conclusions. Next morning after lazy lunchtime pasta Mark drives us to a little town called Kirkby Stephen. I meet up with the band in a field where there’s a decent sized marquee and some other bands too including good friends of mine The Fischers who only just made it after a breakdown. The sound check is postponed [they have decided against them for some reason] so we head off to our accommodation which is a youth hostel run by a voluble Lord Longford look alike in a dear stalker. There’s an air of military precision about this man who is a renowned exhibitor of antique clocks, they’re everywhere. The hostel is a former church and the five of us are in the vestry. The keys are on a big piece of wood Longford says so you don’t lose it…well really and welcome to the geography field trip. It’s like the League of Gentlemen. On the bright side there’s a wonderful chip shop next door and it’s only a ten minute walk to the festival site. We’re on at 10pm. We’re off at 11. It’s almost enjoyable really…once I got over the shitty little amp they had for us…not that I pulled a face…but really, these things can make all the difference. I guess we should have bought the Fender Twin after all. And while we’re on the subject of gear this was, for the record, the debut gig of my new Fender Telecaster Custom 1978 acquired only a few weeks ago from Will Deegan, a man who, according to Mike, has a party in pants to which everyone’s welcome. Now think on lad…VPx
I thought I’d get the train for a change and set off on foot to the local station. It’s Friday afternoon and it’s raining but not in my heart. I’ve never been one for hats though on days like today I wish I had. Perhaps the urge will strike in later years as it does for some so I’m told. Both my granddads wore a trilby. The trains are not running so I catch the shuttle bus and get away without paying. I’m at Piccadilly Station and I’m early so I settle into reading Richard Dawkins’ ‘the God Delusion’ which I prominently display like a weapon as Christians loiter with intent, fishes on lapels, hymn books in handbags. The book is a bit of a discovery for me, such a wonderfully life affirming liberating energising poke at organised releigion, the games people play on behalf of their god; mostly the Christian one but in truth they’re all as daft as one another. I must get my dad a copy. The station, incidentally, is full of beautiful girls. The train is on time and twenty five stops later I’m in Barrow where I’m met by Mark and Phil [tonight’s promoters]. We get Chinese food at Marks where Ethan, Marks son, treats us to a seriously competent bass rendition of a popular Kings of Leon track the name of which escapes me…it’s either be there or on call or something like. Marks elder son Tom is also a talented footballer, he can juggle a ball across his shoulders and the evidence is up there on you tube…anyway, I digress as ever. 
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