First thing (well, first thing after all the other early morning things which always come completely first, of course) I go up to the Guildhall to collect pictures from George. Looking at my diary I notice I was doing exactly the same thing exactly one year ago. You will be relieved to discover that the ineffectual security guard is gone.
In the afternoon I get corrections sent over from Walker. So now I have two things to get finished by Friday morning. Hmm. The Britten is going slowly but surely. But mainly slowly.
So I go to the gym. I know, I know, but I’ve found that if I don’t do it when I have the opportunity my body and psyche slip into some pit of something nasty or other and the work doesn’t get done any quicker. So.
In the evening I jet up to glamourous Highbury and Islington to his gig, meet the drummer and check out the stage. This is currently being occupied by an enthusiastically punky young group of two young men and two young women, which makes a change from when I were a lad.
The room isn’t completely full, and I discover that the amp I’ll be playing through isn’t the large one that the previous player was using, but a small box with a 12″ speaker, unlikely to support me in my desire for Tony Levin- style low-end action. Ooh, er, missus. And I am, indeed, hideously distorted and totally inaudible (which some people have been saying about me for years).
The gig is almost as chaotic as one might imagine. There is extra Tromboning from Steve. Someone out there is clapping, anyway, so all the effort isn’t completely wasted. Very quiet evening all round on the people front, though not in the way of volume.
So I pack up my bass and come home. I quite enjoyed it, really. All I had to do was play the right notes to the best of my ability and I think I managed that. Next time perhaps I’ll get to hear some of them.