ABC at Drury Lane.

As the cast of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory have Sunday off, ABC moved in for a Sunday night gig. The end of a "mini-tour" of three gigs (presumably the smallest number that can still technically be a tour.

This is a strange experience. Firstly it was a gig in a theatre, and a very beautiful one at that. Secondly the audience was extremely middle-aged - the only youngsters being  there with their parents and looking a bit baffled. The audience also strengthened news of the obesity crisis. But sadly even vast quantities of flab couldn't dissuade them from getting up and dancing. A group of middle-aged "girls" in front of us were a serious menace - suitably lubricated with expensive theatre alcohol they were miming away to the songs with such reckless vigour that they nearly had our eyes out.

But the most curious part was the performance. ABC (alias Martin Fry) has essentially been using the same material for 30 years. This performance took the form of two halves, a collection of miscellaneous material in a first half followed by the Lexicon Of Love album in full  after the interval. All ABC's best work was in that album apart perhaps from the show's opener, "When Smokey Sings". But Martin, still looking very dapper in suit and waistcoat, was backed not only by a band and two fine backing singers, but also by a full orchestra, somewhat explaining the exorbitant ticket prices. This did result in the songs being slightly over-orchestrated, which makes the music rather more serious than it merits. ABC lyrics are largely corny and cliched.

There is also a catch in playing an album in full and in order of the tracks. You don't necessarily end with the barnstorming uplifting track you wish to send the crowd home with. Lexicon of Love does end with a very nice song, "All of my Heart", but not their best. So back they came for a single song encore and no option buty to sing one they had sung only half an hour earlier, the relentlessly catchy "Look of Love".

But for all that, an enjoyable evening. Martin Fry still has everything he ever had, and it is fair to say the songs have been well-honed over the years.

Lewes

I took a day trip to Sussex on a gloriously sunny Saturday for March to see a friend of mine who had recently moved from London down to a village near Lewes. Certainly a very different lifestyle - quiet, surrounded by countryside, the village pub, the village church, well a whole village community. Probably not a bad place for a young family.

 Here is the 13th century church of St Pancras

This replacement corbel was carved by my mate's next door neighbour. Its that sort of place.

 We went for a walk and gained an impression of the rural quality. A filed full or rescue horses.

 Spent a fair chunk of the afternoon helping his 3 year-old with colouring in while his parents were cooking dinner. Little Alex had a certain Fauvist attitude to colour (blue lions, red zebras). My attempts to show him the finer points of Pointillism as a style were less successful than Seurat in Victorian Paris. "That's silly." Ah well, that told me.

We finished off the night in the very attractive local pub. 

Interpol and Temples

I went, as is my wont, to the  NME tour gig on Thursday at Brixton Academy. A very good night as always. Dinner and a couple of drinks at the Satay Bar round the corner beforehand and then to the Academy to catch the last two acts.

I really like Temples, a bit of modern psychedelia. Their debut album Sun Structures is very good. My new trainee liked them a lot, as well as Interpol, whom he said were great live even if not that interesting on cd. I didn't hesitate to go into full "I told you so " mode. Why do people always seem surprised when I take them to anything good? (Andy was a bit reluctant to go, but I observed that while he had no need to suck up to his supervisor, it would be a brave career move on his part to turn it down. He complained a bit about emotional blackmail, but I pointed out how preferable that was to the financial and physically threatening kinds which are the traditional alternatives. He saw sense.)

Anyway, back to the gig. Seen a bit of sneering about Temples as obviously psychedelia is a bit old hat. But that is very naive. Almost everything is derivative to some degree, but a band that goes to something like T Rex as an influence rather than just follow current fashion is doing something different in my book. And they are very competent musicians with fine vocals.

Yo shouldn't go to see Interpol live for their charisma, exciting presence on stage or engagement with the audience. But what you get is enormous drive. So well worth seeing, and hearing, for that reason. Although they didn't totally justify the St Vitus dancing from the tubby bloke next to me. He was only just short of having a fit. And then to my right I had a young couple who at one stage were not far off full sexual intercourse. Time and place people. At one point I felt like advising them to break and just breathe - it was close to a health & safety issue!

Tabac Rouge

It was always going to be hard to live up to the hype

With Tabac Rouge, Thiérrée has created a fascinating world in which mystery, mirrors, music and movement combine to catapault you into the unfathomable logic of dreams. It’s a vibrant tribute to dance and theatre.

‘Dream-weaver James Thiérrée is a master of theatrical spectacle, whose adventures in physical hallucinogenics defiantly reject categorisation

And, no, it didn't get close in my view. If one is going to produce an essentially abstract work of art you have to hit certain buttons. It could just be pleasing to the eye - you know old-fashioned beauty. Or could be a feat which impresses. Or it could be intriguing. Hopefully it is all of the above. This was none. It was just baffling.

The set looked vaguely dystopian, like it had been garnered from a junk shop and put on wheels. And the dancers seemed to have instructions to do silly things to music. This was far too close to dance for my tastes, but without the elegance of ballet. Not great for my first visit to Sadler's Wells. I don't think I was alone. On exiting I eavesdropped the following snatch of conversation.

"Well, that was an experience."

"Good seats though."

Such a British, middle-class way of encapsulating a dull evening.

Half Man Half Biscuit followed by a Stag Do

Going to a Half Man Half Biscuit gig is an odd experience for me. Firstly, if like my companion you are knocking on 40 that still makes you pretty much the youngest person there. Secondly, given they are a relatively obscure band, the entire audience appears to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of all the band's material. Which is handy as most of the entertainment value rests in their lyrics, which are almost unintelligible when heard live. Forewarned is forearmed.

But starting off was a chap called John Donaldson from Calvin Party, a fact to which I owe a debt to my knowledgeable friend. If Half Man Half Biscuit are obscure, then their label mates are doubly so. However, Calvin Party it seems disturbed John Peel's Festive Fifty back in the day. Although that day felt a long time ago. This was angry young man music, political lyrics and musically raw songs. But you would hope one could develop with age. The tramp like appearance doesn't help. But the lyrics are witty. I liked one song along the lines of "I don't want to be a lawyer. 'Cos St Peter won't let me in. And I'm a Catholic so believe in all that shit".

Then onto a long set by Half Man Half Biscuit. A very scouse band, you do have to get your ear attuned to the accent. As noted above, its all about the lyrics, although the songs stand up ok musically too. Well they should do or really you are just writing poetry or prose.

Its difficult to quite convey the esoteric nature of their output. I only really know one of their many albums, Back in the DHSS which certainly had a bit of a cult following back in the Eighties. Their stuff is spectacularly dated in the sense that it is littered with cultural references which you just wouldn't relate to unless you lived through the times. Songs like "99% of Gargoyles look like Bob Todd", "F***hell, its Fred Titmus" or "Bastard son of Dean Friedman". You have to have lived through the seventies and eighties for any of these people to mean anything.

There is even a website called the Half Man Half Biscuit Lyrics Project which analyses their lyrics. I suspect One Direction lack a comparable site.

Try

http://www.chrisrand.com/hmhb/

One of my favourites is a song called "For what is Chatteris?", which is a sort of spoof of love songs like "What is Life if Living is Without You" So this is based on what is the point in living in Chatteris (obscure market town in Cambridgeshire) without one's loved one. I especially like the 3rd and 4th lines below. Either this is your sense of humour or its not.

"Like a game-bird reserve short on pheasants
Weavers’ cottages devoid of tenants
A market town that lacks quintessence
That’s Chatteris without your presence
Three good butchers, two fine chandlers
An indoor pool and a first class cake shop
Ofsted plaudits, envy of the Fens
Prick barriers at both ends
But what’s Chatteris if you’re not there?"

It finishes with the conclusion, 

"What’s Chatteris if you’re not there?
I may as well be in Ely or St.Ives…"

So that was my Friday night. Saturday was totally devoted to a stag do. 11:30 start at the Workers Cafe in Islington for a large fry-up brunch. What more middle-class title could one imagine for an eaterie than the Workers Cafe? It sits opposite Islington Town Hall, a wedding venue, and hence a popular starting point for a day of nuptials too. So shortly after midday our little initial group hit out first pub, the King's Head, well known for its theatre, but for us just a good start point. I began with a shandy, wimpish, but as you can see I am giving everyone else a 20 year head start in age.

Anyway, undid all my good work at the next spot, the Earl of Essex. Now this is a really, really middle-class pub. Popular with us for its very fine beer selection. As I say I undid my good work by going for a strong Belgian Trappist  beer. The pub was full of young middle-class locals with their small children and expensive prams.

Then onto our feature activity of the day, urban golf. A nod here to our stag who actually likes this strange pursuit (I will not be misled into calling golf a sport since it is clearly no such thing.) Now the one thing that quickly became evident to me is that one could sensibly shut down all those expensive and land-hungry golf courses around the country and turn the land over to more productive uses, be they housing, agriculture or just nature reserves, replacing them, for those for whom the manly pursuit of arm-swinging is such a vital living ingredient, with these urban golf courses.

You can play pretty much any course in the world you like. the golf clubs are all there for you so no hefting about a heavy bag. You fire at a screen and monitors pick up where your ball would have gone if you had hit it on a full course (in my case, never very far....). And you can happily drink a pint while while you are at it. Never weather disrupted. Eco friendly as you could have them in your neighbourhood rather than drive with clubs out into the country. Problem sorted. Next the Ukraine crisis...

Well, after a couple of hours of that we needed to find somewhere with better quality beer, so Jae had the Craft Beer Company next on the itinerary. A good choice although the timing was unfortunate, coinciding with a hailstorm, as you can see.

But the beer was of course good, the selection enormous and the place absolutely heaving with customers. Well what about that for a business idea? Instead of having a pub just recycling piss like Carling and Heineken, why not try selling a wide variety of nice (albeit a bit more expensive) stuff which would appeal to people's varied tastes?

So we settled down there until dinner called. I was persuaded by the one man not drinking alcohol to go for just about the strongest beer on the menu, basically an upgrade on the one I had earlier at the Earl of Essex. So that was a beer more than 10% proof. But really nice flavour. Warm and welcoming to the palate.

And to finish off, dinner at Needoo, a spin-off of the well-known Tayyib. This is a pakistani curry house. You wouldn't pick it for its ambience. On a Saturday night it is madness. So why go? Well, yes for the food. Which is just about as tasty as you can imagine. Truly mouth watering. You do have to like curry, including the smell. Luckily being traditional British blokes we do. Funny that, drinking beer in places that sell good beer and eating food in places that serve good food. Unfortunately the trend in recent years is to concentrate on interior decor and fancy menus.

So that wrapped up the day really. No strippers, no dressing up, no falling over, no vomit, no insulting the bar staff. An excellent stag do. Looking forward to the wedding now. Given its Barcelona in May I think we will avoid the hailstorm, but will be difficult to match the beer.

Viking Spring

The Vikings have arrived. The British Museum exhibition has set off all sorts of cultural bits and bobs for the vikings. And jolly good idea too. Clearly an interesting mob.

Of course there is a certain amount of revisionism.They used to be portrayed as these heathen marauders raping and pillaging, but then they got the touchy feely treatment. Perhaps with this exhibition one can see both ends. But make no bones about it, especially at their early days, they were marauding thugs out to steal anything they could get hold of, and melt it down into bling jewellery. Some of the broaches are just astonishing, not just for their artistry but also for their sheer size. Admittedly they may be holding together some heavy cloaks, but they are huge. Indeed so large that one felt the pins could be used as offensive weapons in their own right.

The exhibition is in the new exhibition wing of the museum which allows for much bigger objects to be displayed, notably the centrepiece of this show, the remains of a huge viking warship, the largest ever found. Having said that, only 20% of it remains, so much of what one is looking at is the steel structure echoing the real thing, with original woodwork just at the base. But the other thing the new building gives is just empty space in which to circulate. Gone are the cramped confines of the old British Library and now agoraphobia is more the concern.

Apart from admiring the jewellery, and some of the more butch items of weaponry, there were lots of little nuggets of knowledge. Like that the Shetlands were still part of Norway going into the middle of the 15th century, so they have been part of the United Kingdom for much longer than they had been part of Scotland. And did you know that "beserk"  comes from nutty Viking warriors called berserkers who chewed their shields and went into battle naked (fine if you are a Spartan swanning around in Greece but distinctly parky in Scandinavia one would have thought)?

I do like Viking names. You know where you are with Eric Bloodaxe or Svein Forkbeard. They clearly were a bloodthirsty lot. But just because you can merrily cut open your enemy's chest and pull out bits for fun doesn't mean you can't enjoy fine art or pretty shiny objects. Indeed the two may go together more often than is comfortable. We would like to think murderous thugs can't have nice artistic sensibilities like us.

After that and coffee in the Members' Room I headed into Queensway for lunch at Cafe Anglais (a nice fish stew with cod's tongues) before heading out to enjoy the spring sunshine through Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park and eventually to the National Gallery.

Can't beat a good waxy magnolia on a sunny spring day

And yes just the usual sort of people wandering about. Like this bloke walking his rabbit through the park. As one does.