Saturday, March 29, 2008


What a nightmare journey- trouble on the Northern Line, I went to King's Cross instead of Euston, but Glasgow was there in all its rainy glory with the toughies walking the streets and that was just the dogs!
The Tron was a groovy kinda place- a bar next to a theatre, full of 'miniature thespians' as the promoter described them- hordes of exctied little actor-children with painted faces running upstairs eating pizza after their show.
The audience for Martin was perfect- on three sides of the little stage, there was a different flavour in each of the three sections- the rowdy clappers on the right, the concentrators in front and the loving couples to the left. It was a great gig to play because the sound was perfect- you could hear what you were doing with the utmost clarity and the audience were a listening crowd and I felt that I did a close-to-best gig.
Boy, I've been having a crap time at home and music has been saving my soul. To get to do a decent gig in a nice venue with people listening and clapping and liking what I do, it's utter bliss. I really enjoyed it; the crowd was so warm and friendly, they could have melted the coldest heart and I'm an earnest music-loving warm-hearted performer and it was pure joy to do it.
Martin played a great set too, I wish I could remember what it was he said but he quipped a fabulous quip that made me laugh through a whole song and almost miss it. He sussed the three-sided audience perfectly. I watch him, you know, because he has such a good way with an audience, and I try to learn. Obviously I have an entirely different personality but I think his confidence is infectious. I can feel absolutely lousy and be doing a support for him and I feel that it's a breeze.
It was one of those nights when you just feel that you have the best job in the world.
The bar staff were great too- they were respectful and supportive and listened and didn't clatter glasses and ping tills.

Afterwards, there was a verbal tussle for the minicab. A drunk lady tried to hijack the cab the venue had booked to take us artists to the hotel, on behalf of a sober lady, who was using her drunken friend's chutzpah to try to muscle in on the cab to get her home.
The cab driver went bananas, and cancelled the cab the sober lady had booked from the same company just to spite her, because he'd had such a nasty night. He ranted all the way back to the hotel, furiously and Glaswegianly. I wondered if he could have powered his cab on his fury and saved a fortune on petrol.


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