We’ve really been riding the highs and lows of it this month, let me tell you…and so we took us into East Sussex. The Queens Head in Rye is a cosy pub with a twist (go and check out the psychedelic paintings) in a very picturesque little estuary town. All the beer is called Freedom, the pies are big enough to share, the Scotch is delicious, and the conversation is so high-brow that we avoided total exposure and humiliation by such a small margin that it’s possible we didn’t avoid it at all…but we didn’t notice. We played to a select audience of VERY brainy people and went down very well luckily, because if they’d hated us we might not have understood that they were taking the piss. Next stop the MENSA Christmas party.
Next morning we took ourselves to a fine shingle beach and got sunburn in under an hour but, pink as we were, it was nothing compared to the regulars at The Plough, Reading. They’d just been on a Beano to the seaside on a charabanc (!) and some outdoor drinking had obviously occurred – all day! We’ve played The Plough a couple of times before and made a notable success each time, but not this time. They rolled off the bus and straight into the back room to watch the boxing. We saw neither hide nor hair ‘til we’d finished playing, when they emerged to chat with us as we packed up the gear. They’d missed a pretty good gig, as it goes. Yeah.
Off to Glastonbury next and I’d like to say right now that the A303 has never given me any trouble - I’ve heard people use bad words about that road. We played two belting sets to a largely empty room – do you see the pattern emerging here? However, this was different. The air that evening was as nectar so Leah, the landlady, had sensibly left the doors to the terrace open. It was packed with happy smokers and they were all very into it. So we dug in and entertained the invisible. Very Glasto..
Then we made our big mistake – Cornwall, more specifically, Falmouth. Dear me. We played to Tash and Hellen (Hi Tash, Hi Hellen), who were working the bar. Every now and then someone might wander in, spot the gear – and leave. Two whole sets and not a soul at any time as the long, long evening wore on. Sigh. Then to cap it all, owing to prevailling traffic conditions (eh?) we had to come home via the M5 and M4, and everything was messed up so we didn’t even make it to Woodsie’s birthday drink.
Then, as if by magic, it’s Sunday – and you know what that means? Yes, it’s Ron’s Speakeasy at The Duke. New to Deptford’s music scene, they’ve made a good start. Now, I will say that the place was not packed. But as it turned out this was not so much a gig as a concert. Really! People listening and responding. Not talking. In return we played what I feel was a blinder (and I have been agreed with in this respect – by people who know.). It was exactly what we needed after a testing time out West.
