Andy Warhol’s plagiarant material steals the show every time, fame is a fragile game that must be played to the very end but I’m bored with it now.
Thursday and I’m at OOTB reviewing and slowly expiring in the heat of the cellar bar of the Cannons’ Gait. On a fairly average night the best and probably most shambolic were “Withered Hand” a boy/girl cello and guitar duo who stumbled through their songs, pulling in different directions and seeming quite under rehearsed but pleasantly unconcerned. I liked their extra indie style, their humour and lyrics and their attack, it beats the hell out of the introspective Nick Drake show and tell parade that many performers participate in. Sparrowhawk aka Spambourski were in fine and fully atmospheric form, they’ve cottoned onto something. Filthy Pedro was also fun, a refugee from Anglesey and the inventor of “Rock and Roll Points”, a bit like credit card points but awarded for mindless, bad and inappropriate behaviour. Rock on Pedro.
The week grinds to a halt with a visit to Livingstone to buy trainers for my daughter and a housecoat each. The sun is high in the sky and we munch a Gregg’s steak bake al fresco. A Brain Training Wii game is also purchased by Joe and we head back via the back roads doing our “find the cat, bowl clanging” routine and pushing “lost” posters through miscellaneous letter boxes. You always expect to see or meet some one when you do this but really it’s as if you are invisible, like H G Wells’ postman.