That may help, or not.

The day is spent finishing off some Secret Project bits and uploading them to Walker’s FTP server, from which Ben downloads them and tells me that I need to provide them on CD anyway. So Doh!

Then when I’d normally be thinking about going to bed (9:30, but then I’m old and pathetic) I have to go out to support Mr Jeays in concert at Madame JoJo’s. Not, I hasten to add the usual bill of fare they have there but a sort of alternative cabaret night.

I announce my presence to the man at the door and he shrugs and lets me pass, presumably because if I had brought along all this gear (Godin, VG88 and amplifier) just to blag my way in, I’d probably earned it.

I locate Jeays and we head backstage, where a number of people are dressed in peculiar costumes. One of these people is dressed as a ringmaster. They are all drunk. They troop out. We sit there, regaled with fine but perhaps a tad overbearing playing from a Korean violinist and her flamenco-ish accompanyist. The strangely-costumed people troop back. I assume they have performed, though I can’t say what they’ve performed. I’m wearing jeans and a grotty shirt and feel very out of place.

The violinist and flamencist go out and return.

We then go out onto the stage ourselves to set up. I get all my gear set up and ask for electrical sockets, though none are provided initially. There is a terrifying drop in front of the stage, a large mirror opposite it and an audience milling around, if anything drunker than the performers. That may help, or not.

The chap in charge of the sound is not wholly complimentary of the organisational abilities of the people in charge of this evening. In the end, though, we plug everything in, it works and the Ringmaster strides onto the stage to announce Phil. I make a noise, or rather I go through the noise-making motions and no noise appears. Eventually (and the cat-calling starts indecently soon after the problem arises, I think), it is discovered that the Ringmaster kicked out the mains lead for the amplifier when he strode onto the stage. Apparantly that happens a lot.

Anyway, a hideous fifteen or so minutes at the end of which we do Geoff and refuse to encore despite the calls for it, though I don’t know why. Probably because they’re people who think that they can be as rude as they like during a performance as long as they clap enthusiastically at the end.

I get a lift home with Phil. It’s half-past twelve. Too late. Guh.