Friday 25th of August, 2000
too presbyterian to appreciate it properly
We do Mervyn Stutter again, but this time we are on nearer the beginning, which makes for a more attentive audience (I often feel that the audience are a bit shell-shocked at the end of the how. I sneak Laura in to the show, so she gets to see the whole thing for free. I watch Simon Munnery (good to begin with, but runs out of steam a bit after an ill-advised paedophile gag - all comics are trying it at the moment because it's "in the news" and then they look sheepish when the audience doesn't laugh).
After the show is over we jet over to Peter Michael Rowan's for tea. It turns out he lives just around the corner from where Laura has been staying (except she's at the bottom of one page of the A-Z and he's at the top of another so I didn't make the connection - doh!). I was expecting a mug of tea and a chat, but the kitchen table is laden with all sorts of fine foods. Holly, Ruaridh, Pete's flatmate and her kids and several other people turn up as well. It's a lovely afternoon, both socially and weather-wise. Pete has a flat in a block of houses built by rebelling building-workers for themselves in the 19th century, and he's right by the Waters of Leith river walk.
The gig is nice and fairly well populated.
After the gig Laura and I return home to the flat, where Dave has found a documentary about Nick Drake on the tv. I prevail upon him to let me watch it - despite my deep and abiding love of Drake's music, I do feel slightly separated from the people represented in the programme, both his family and friends and his fans. The bursts of his music that appear on the soundtrack remind me of what I am really interested in. Still, Caroline Kendall and Malcolm Darwen appear at the end (Mal doing Pink Moon and Caroline doing, I think, Clothes of Sand).
Dave doesn't want to go the Universal Party, and says so with absolute clarity. Laura and I wander down to the Three Sisters pub (?) where it is being held - just down the road from the Gilded Balloon. I would be lying if I said there wasn't just a little gratification in joining the priority queue and being waved through by Phil (who's at the gate, since he knows everybody). We get our identity bracelets (with free drink tokens attached) and join the throng.
One nice thing is that everybody is there - from Scott Cappurro down to the Burning Orphanage boys via Earl Okin and Peter Buckley Hill, but there is very little evidence of, well, business. Everyone is just having a good time. Laura being keen on dancing, we dance for a bit (I am noticably less keen on dancing), and then retire to a sofa to watch people for a while, which is actually quite fun. Delphine, who lived with us in the flat last year, comes over and we chat for a bit. People seem to be having animated conversations despite the fact that no one can hear what anyone is saying. My theory is that no one is saying anything, they are all just pretending. We try it - just making the right faces and gestures. It works perfectly. We leave at about 3:45am. Strange - it didn't seem like we were there for three hours. As we are leaving, people are still trying to blag their way in (the party doesn't finish until 6:00), which is also strangely gratifying. There is something nice about being on the guest list, I suppose. I'm just too presbyterian to appreciate it properly. Or something.