I’ve been a bit disorientated after the hectic jetset activity of the last few weeks. I’ve taken to slumping on the sofa, watching Charles Colville on Sky Sports apologising for the rain and reassuring me that limited-overs cricket between Surrey and Hampshire could well be underway within the next four hours. That kind of reassurance is fine if you’re desperate to see limited-overs cricket between Surrey and Hampshire, but a bit unhelpful if you have a more fundamental malaise that you can’t quite put your finger on. I tried taking my car up to my parents’ house in Dunstable, where it’s due to be put through its paces in a vigorous and unforgiving MOT test, but I still found myself looking for answers. Then I wandered around Archway, looking for someone who might listen to my problems and guide me spiritually through the next few days, and I found this:

“Do not be scared of training,” it says, before adding in a footnote that “the training is very hard.” Well, of course I’m going to be bloody scared of training, if training is hard. Fortunately, I didn’t have to start training, because the simple exhortation that I should “not be sluggish and lazy” bucked me up a bit. Anyone who needs a lift, walk past the Shaolin Temple in Tufnell Park. It did wonders for me.

Last night I went to that monstrosity of a venue in Brixton, The Windmill. If you arrive early, you encounter a motley group of regular drinkers, who tend to get a bit narked when the loud and annoying live music kicks off. When The Free French played there about 5 years ago, I was grateful to get through the evening without confrontation with them. Then I went back to pick up some gear the next day, and one of them stopped me in the bar. “Oi! Hi! Didn’t you play here last night?” “Yes,” I said, smiling expectantly. “You were shit,” he said, going back to his pint.

Anyway, no confrontation last night. Stuffy & The Fuses kicked off the evening. They are top, and utterly lovely people to boot. What more could you ask for? Well, The Scaramanga Six, frankly. I’ve ranted on about them before on this journal, lovingly describing the continuing miracle of how they remain totally driven despite having minimal success and a series of pathetically uncommitted drummers. And they’re still fantastic. They played their new single, “Baggage”, and I was open-mouthed. I bought it afterwards, and thus I can, without any authorisation whatsoever, offer you a 1-minute clip, on the understanding that if you enjoy this splendid collision of ELO, The Fall and Tony Bennett, you immediately rush to their site and buy a copy for 4 measly quid or something. For the rock-thirsty among you, here’s a video of them playing a song about getting into trouble (16.2Mb), from last night. It’s amazing what you can do with a Nokia N70, isn’t it.

Then Sarandon took to the stage, to bravely play all 28 tracks from their forthcoming compilation album, and 3 extra tracks. “I’m never doing that again,” said smakake afterwards. But the crowd were behind them, not least when guest singers Phil Wilson (June Brides) and Alan Brown (Big Flame) guested on a couple of tracks. Alan was my boyhood hero, so I took a souvenir picture:

And then bought him a pint, and another, and then he bought me one, and we eventually got kicked out of the Windmill into the pissing rain at 1am. I didn’t try and kiss him, it wouldn’t have been appropriate, but man, Alan Brown. Big Flame. Oof.