Evening Pop Pickers.
Newcastle Academy... Well, it kicked off again. Peter stagedived during Babyshambles the song and the whole place went haywire. Normally when he does that it takes a minute or two, tops, before he crawls out. Tonight he was basically the rugby ball in a scrum of Northern Shamblites for a full ten minutes. This meant Mik got to extend himself a trifle during the solo, which I think I enjoyed more than anyone else in the building- distracted as they were with the old "chaos ensues" routine. The venue got the hump a bit though and started crying Health and Safety.
Now I'm all for watching out for the little guy, but the safety of the only person's health in question tonight was Pete's. He looked seriously in danger of being hanged, drawn and quartered by rival Geordies, hell bent on snagging an opportunistic selfie with an increasingly dishevelled indie icon. Instagram has a lot to answer for.
When he eventually made it out of the melee his beautiful vintage mohair blazer looked like it had been through a shredder, and the new trilby we bought this morning never stood a chance. There wasn't much we could do to top that, so we smashed out Fuck Forever and called it a night.
Earlier that day I managed to get about quite a bit on my blue Brompton (now christened 'Bertie'), this time on a solo outing. I rolled around town centre, swung by the Theatre Royal on Grey Street, and made it over to the impressive St. Nicholas Cathedral. I particularly enjoyed bowling about the Chinatown area, and found some cute second hand shops and guitar stores round the cobbled streets just south of Eldon Square.
Speaking of the incongruous Eldon Square... It's interesting to note which British cities manage to retain some character in the face of this dire middle-England homogenisation. At some point it seems, town planners the country over decided to baffle the populous by making every pedestrianized city centre look identical. As a touring musician I've been to most UK towns many times over the last ten years, and mostly if you've seen one British high street you've seen them all. Newcastle manages to remain unmistakably Newcastle though. Rather like a handsome but aging actor with unconvincing cosmetic surgery.
Tonight the bus is Party Bus 2000. Our crew consist of lads from Hull, Gouroch, Liverpool and Aberdeen. As I type this, hilarity is ensuing as Adam and Mik try unconvincingly to ape their accents. Think it may be time for me to bow out and shuffle off to bed...
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