I think The Boy must be reading my mind (I doubt he's reading the blog)...because yesterday afternoon he rang me from Snowdonia, just before they start off with their trek. He didn't want anything other to say hello and let me know what he's been doing for the last couple of days. He's never done that before...I danced around the office in delight. I wished him luck.
It's rare indeed to go to a gig and not hear the band you were there to see.
But that's how it was last night.
We were in Camden - if you've never had the chance to go there, I'd recommend spending a little time exploring, because its a place as alien as the surface of Mars....especially when it's foggy like it was last night. There is an over-abundance of street-food stalls, and boot shops and you can smell the 'alternative culture' the moment you leave the tube station. It's young, vibrant, colourful and positively terrifying for anyone over the age of 25. I love it...in small doses.
We pitched up with some friends at the Roundhouse to see the 25th Anniversary tour of Deacon Blue. Now I realise that they're not the trendiest of bands, but they do churn out a great pop tune and I've been a follower for just about all those twenty-five years, having seen them first in Brighton when I was still young and confident of conquering the world. I even dragged poor Auntie Gwen along to see them when they decided to just be the husband and wife team of McIntosh and Ross. I should have learnt my lesson because it was a comedy of errors as I wrote here http://bradstockboys.blogspot.co.uk/2009/11/six-degrees-of-separation.html
As the gig started I realised all was not right. Everyone carried on talking. So loud it was almost impossible to hear the music. It wasn't that it was a bad show. Indeed people were really enjoying themselves. But during the less familiar songs they carried on with their daily conversations. Odd. Really odd. And then when the 'greatest hits' were sung, I still didn't get to hear the band, because everyone knew the words and sang along . Loudly, returning to their conversations in between the hits. Bizarre. Poor Ricky Ross, totally ignored when he told his little stories as he is want to do before starting to sing.
I think they're probably as good as they've always been. So in case you've forgotten what they sound like, try this...with a bit of Dignity this time
And suitably, The Cat's Mother's favourite
