Sunday, November 18, 2007

First Of The Twelfth

I went out last night – a Saturday night – which is quite unusual. Even more unusual, I went to a gig of all things – which makes it twice in one year.

It was a small venue near Kingston Upon Thames. Luckily, I could get the train from here straight to Wimbledon and change there, rather than hack my way through to Waterloo.

To show how rock ‘n’ roll I was, I bought a Latte while I waited on the platform and that was pretty much my drink for the evening. For a Saturday it was a quiet, ordinary journey, although on the train from Wimbledon the carriage filled with a large party of raucous school-age girls dressed as schoolgirls.

Wearing white shirts, short grey skirts and black tights – presumably for a themed party – bubbling with inane chatter, and leaping onto each other, suddenly striking frozen poses reflected in the windows until the stuttering flash of their small digital camera set them free, they acted like the brainless fuck-holes-on-legs their future would lead them to be. If it was a school outing the teacher in charge would have sternly told them to sit up straight and please put their clitorises away, at least for a few more years.

The band was Twelfth Night, playing for the first time in twenty-one years. I hadn’t heard of them until a couple of months ago, but that doesn’t mean anything because my extensive musical knowledge is pretty much next to nil. The only reason I knew about them now was because, with only four of the five members of the original line-up able to get back together, Work Buddy – who had his own band back in the day – had been invited to play guitar and keyboards for the reunion.

The intimate locale was already crowded with expectant long-time fans, including a wandering poodle-permed gentleman in black jeans and a black Van der Graaf Generator tee-shirt, along with new fans unsure of what to expect until the band came on stage the room erupted.

Leading up to it, Work Buddy had said that it should simply be about a bunch of middle-aged guys having fun. And he was right. It was just that. They were up on stage having an absolute ball, as was the enthusiastic crowd.

Of course the weekend train timetables dictated that I couldn’t catch the end of their performance, having to wander back through the darkened streets to find the station. But next Saturday they’re playing the second gig, at The Albany Theatre in Deptford. Come along.


At 10:08 am, Blogger Lucy said...

Put their clitorises away?!

I was under the impression gents liked to look up girls' skirts or down their tops. Or to GRAB THEIR ARSES AT SCRIPTWRITING SEMINARS.

You must have crossed the threshold into either Grumpy Old Mansville or The Gay Quarter. Let us know which by hanging a snotty knotty hanky or a feather boa out your FFF.

At 8:36 am, Blogger Riddley Walker said...

@lucy - Damn, did *I* miss out on an arse-grabbing opportunity at the seminar? How terribly remiss of me.

Come along at the weekend and I'll remedy it - lol!

At 1:28 am, Blogger Good Dog said...

Oh good grief, are we back to that? As I said then, if you had been wearing knickers at the time it would have been a light pat as intended.

Well, obviously I'm a grumpy old bastard. I thought you'd figured that by now.

Of course that was comic effect. But with then leaping about, reflected in the carriage windows with arms and legs jutting out in all directions... the worst was the inane wittering. If the good folk at Bletchley Park had been given a tape of their useless chatter I doubt they would have been able to make any sense of it.

As for what useful purpose they will serve... well, this is a public forum after all, so most things are best left unsaid. But the phrase, "snap their necks on the vinegar stroke" comes to mind.

As for what FFF means...?

At 1:38 am, Blogger Good Dog said...

The journey, I should add, was nothing like this

At 11:49 am, Blogger Lucy said...

"if you had been wearing knickers at the time it would have been a light pat as intended"


As I ALSO said at the time GD, I WAS wearing knickers. And anyway, since when does 1mm of cloth stop big ol' pervs from pinching arses and turn it into a "light pat"?!?
Your logic blows.

And a FFF is a first floor flat. Clearly you have never bought a house, worked as or shagged an estate agent.


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