Folk in Cellar

It's in a cosy little orange cellar, and the storms kept almost everyone away, including the headline act, but it was just the place to be on a windy night. Everyone was really friendly, right down to the barman, and Les Coghlan, who runs the club, was really nice. He has a folk band with Emma Scarr, who plays fiddle and sings, and J. Emma sang some great story songs- from 'Neaden to Nashville' was the best. They did some trio stuff, and I've never been able to see or hear a bodhran at such close quarters before- there's a lot more to the sound than I had realised. J did some songs too, one of which I could swear was called 'Whiskers in my Heart' but I must be wrong. I hope I play there again, because I liked the size and the atmosphere. Where else does the barman buy you a drink? To round it off perfectly, I found a Lindt chocolate reindeer in my coat pocket that I'd bought reduced-price at the garage, and I scoffed the lot on the way home.
What else? I realised this morning that the gorgeous smell of orange blossom at Westferry DLR station was in fact tar. And I saw Amy Lame on the tube, wearing a bright red hat and bright red lipstick. Go Girl, Amy Lame! Who wants to lie down and mope in winter!
Anyway it's taken me a week to confess this... but last Tuesday evening my car got clamped in a car park and I had to pay £75 to get free. When the man had gone, I just sat in my car in the darkness by myself and cried. I couldn't stop. I cried for almost half an hour, and suddenly felt better. I drove home with everything looking sparkly, even the dull old northwestern suburbs, and the beginnings of a new song had washed out of my head, with the tears. And I looked in the mirror when I got home because I thought my eyelids would be all fat and podgy and my eyes would be red, but I looked OK. I think the tears were good for me! You see, I never cry at all usually.