The day’s a bit of a blur. I go for a long run (long by recent standards) over Southwark Bridge, then along the north embankment. The tourists haven’t gone home yet, sadly.
Home, shower, lunch, prepare to go out.
In the evening to Acton, where I’m playing guitar for Phil Jeays. On the tube, I’m sitting opposite a cellist.
At the other end it takes a while, but I finally locate the venue, where the headliner are still soundchecking. Then the second band (who have lots of electronic gear, and work quite efficiently to make sure it all does what it’s supposed to) who I suppose are the torsoliners do their soundcheck while we have a drink. And then We go on to check that everything works and play. Anatomical logic suggests that that makes us the arseliners.
Off for a bit, I drink a free shot that’s offered me (unprofessional, I know, but what the hell. It tastes faintly of cherries, and reminds me a bit of cough mixture).
I learn some things: There are several chords in Phil’s that after nearly thirteen years I still don’t have under my fingers (though there are many that I do); I really should insist on using the preamp with the guitar, otherwise it sounds a bit thin; I’m really quite old. I suppose I knew that anyway.
I go downstairs to the bar to buy old man’s beer. There’s another band playing down there, which contains the cellist who was on the tube earlier. I suppose she must have found the venue even harder to find than me. A lot more sedate than upstairs, where it’s jumpin’.
I sneak home before the headliners go on, leaving the young people to their fun.
I get off at Embankment to enjoy the walk over the footbridge, and buy a kebab on the way home. Mmm, health food!
Lots of programmes about Pink Floyd on. Am struck by the fact that they were a really good band, something that’s easily forgotten when you know the albums that well. Actually they seem to have been at least four really good bands.