I eventually got in at about 1.30am. No sex, drugs and debauchery for me; a
bumpy ride in a gigantic van followed by lugging of heavy gear into a dusty
cupboard. (I imagine this is surprisingly similar to my entry for Aug 22nd,
but I can't check while I'm in this office. Apologies for any repetition.)
The gigantic van provoked much mirth from the promoter, who wondered why on
earth I had hired a 12 seater splitter bus for me and a few bits of crap
gear. (The white transit I was expecting wasn't available, so I got a Free
Upgrade. The first, and probably the last time I'll receive such a thing.)

I had a really good time last night. Variety, it's the way to go. Playing on
the same bill as jugglers, or women sawing men in half. I'd never seen The
Vichy Government before, and I'll definitely be seeing them again. The sound
of Jamie's voice is beautifully benign. The combination of barbed lyrics and
sing-song Jackanory vocal is just irresistable. I could listen to him for
hours. A nice dynamic between the two of them, as well, between songs. An
uneven battle between a man with a microphone who has star quality, and a
man without, who doesn't. Unfair, perhaps, but it works. “Secretarial Elite”
is genius. I've got the album on at the moment, which I was very kindly
handed last night. “Be seeing you!”

Whether you like him or not (and I do, muchly) you can't deny that Mr Hegley
can get a crowd on his side very quickly. I couldn't believe it when i
walked in after a couple of minutes and he'd already initiated some
effective audience participation. This made me want desperately to try
dividing the crowd into two during our set and have a “who can shout HELLO
loudest” competition. I didn't. I remember being heckled with the words
“Vernon Tea Rooms”, which was marvellous. I remember seeing Kesta bouncing
up and down like a fool at the back of the room. I don't remember much else.
But thank you to everyone who came, whether you 'dug' us or not.

Afterwards a man with a beard said that he felt like giving up his job and
becoming my manager. “Get rid of the keyboard players, and write songs about
girls” was his advice. Which was interesting, as ideally I'd get in even
more keyboard players and write an album of songs about the drudgery of
manual labour. He told me his email address, which I forgot immediately.

Once again, chips were bought in Old Street (see Aug 22nd, again, I
imagine). The chips came in a box. Jenny required vinegar. I shook the box
while she shook the vinegar bottle. “What the f*ck is he doing”, I overheard
someone saying on the other side of the shop, whilst looking in my
direction. “I'm shaking a big box of chips”, I said, indignantly. He
laughed, but in a contemptuous way. I silently wished that his chips would
be all vinegary on top and condiment-free at the bottom, before galumphing
off into the night.