Seven Miles Out and Fun Up The Junction

Never let it be said that life is devoid of adventures.
Last week was spent listening to vinyl that has been tucked away in boxes, all over the house. Many of the seven inch singles have tiny scratches from when they were kept in a basket, and a litter of kittens used to sit on them and tuck their little paws into the paper sleeves to keep them warm.
It was a week of good fun listening and a fair bit of dancing round in the kitchen; I'd set the turntable up on the side, with the ghetto-blaster attached with a couple of dodgy wires, so that the kitchen units acted as bass bins. This was a trick learned from the old house, although the cabinets there were less full, and therefore functioned better. Still, once I'd pinched the wires a couple of times to connect them properly, it was all systems go.
I packed the lot into a bag, and also packed the guitar because Kevin has asked me to do a short set. kevin Birchall and Linda Yarwood DJ all over the north west of England and had extended an invitation that couldn't be refused, to play a selection of post-punk records at a Venue called Seven Miles Out.
Into the car, and off! Roundabout halfway there, the battery light came on and wouldn't go off. By the time I'd got to the M6 toll road, a warning light was flashing and despite an attempt to get to the Services, the indicators failed and I had to pull over on to the hard shoulder: by that time the brakes had also failed and I had to what fro the car to roll to a stop.
From a grassy bank, I called the AA and had to resort to writing poetry about kingfishers at Hampstead Ladies' Bathing Pond in a little book, as a distraction from the heckling van drivers and horn-honking HGV drivers. How very useful of them! And how pretentious of moi! (it did work, though).
The AA man was tattooed, and an AC/CD enthusiast. He was thrilled that I'd taught Bill Bruford's son. We talked about Black Sabbath and Phantom of the Opera (his wife's fave) as he located an alternator at a supplier that was just about to close for the weekend, towed the car there and fitted it. What a stroke of luck! Thank you AA man: may your life ever revolve around Heavy Metal!
This was the first time a Friday the thirteenth had behaved like one; and on arrival at Stockport, I discovered that the internet booking site had published the wrong postcode for the hotel. I almost cried as I sat in a backstreet trying to be patient with Reception, who later said that it was impossible to get to the venue, Seven Miles Out, by car, so I rushed there on foot with my bag of records, and left the guitar behind because it was too heavy to carry all of it. Of course, he was wrong, and Linda very kindly drove me back to the car park to pick it up.
One of those days don't always turn into one of those nights, though. The venue owners John and Rosemary could not have been kinder, and Linda and Kevin could not have been more welcoming.
Seven Miles Out is a gem of a place: it is next to the old Market in Stockport and it's decorated inside with graffiti with a strong Frank Sidebottom influence (he wrote a song about the owner, John). Kevin and Linda DJ together, and were playing a lot of stuff out of my own collection (Delta 5, The Fire Engines) which was a good sign. There was a chap there with some Chefs vinyl that he wanted signing ( a rare occurrence- I think the last person who did that was Shippy about ten years ago).
I played a very short set of songs (including Let's Make Up) then did the turntable thing, playing a selection of songs from the following list:

The Monochrome Set The Monochrome Set (I Presume). Of course, this was the first track so it jumped!
The Associates Ice Cream Factory
The Dollymixture Been Teen
Carmel More More More
The Farmer's Boys Whatever Is He Like?
Depeche Mode Just Can't Get Enough and New Life
The Rezillos Flying Saucer Attack
The Passage XOYO
The Nightingales Paraffin Brain (I think it was that one but I took two)
The Band of Holy Joy The Aspidistra House
The Teardrop Explodes Reward
Joe Jackson Stepping Out
Animal Nightlife Love Is Just The Great Pretender
The B52s Rock Lobster
The Flying Lizards Money
Die Doraus Und Die Marinas Fred Vom Jupiter
Aztec Camera Walk Out To Winter (also jumped!)
Scritti Politti The Sweetest Girl

(I played more than this, and some are probably wrong).
Who made people leap on to the dance floor? Depeche Mode!
Claudine, at the PR company who worked for them, affectionately nicknamed them 'depressed mood', but boy did they write good music. On the way home today I was singing their records in my head, and every tiny synth motif is completely easy to recall; Vince Clarke is extremely clever.
Carmel was also a dance floor hit, and The Rezillos. It's impossible too remember much but the next day my sides were aching, and I realised that I had been dancing along at the same time as playing the records. I'd forgotten what a good track Love Is Just The Great Pretender was. They were in a rehearsal studio once and I was completely starstruck.

Afterwards I had a really nice chat with the owners, who are campaigning to stay there, so they can provide a home for the sometimes 50 ukulele players who turn up on a Monday to play Roxy Music covers, for Kevin and Linda's nights, for Graham Marsland's nights (Bitter Springs, you should send a copy of The Addison Brothers to him because I think he would like it; would have given him mine, which I intended to play, but I like the hand-painted legs on the B-side too much to part with it). Gentrification is rumbling towards them like a relentless juggernaut, and you can support them at www.stockportproducehall.co.uk so they get to have a little bit of control over their own destiny.
A million thank-yous to Kevin and Linda and to everyone who came along!

On Saturday, I drove over the beautiful moors to Goole, where I joined Mick, June, Laura and Danny Whitfield for an ice cream before getting lost again on the way to the next hotel (45 minutes to drive a five minute journey). This time, it was the satnav's fault. It had a major breakdown later on in the evening, where it displayed a series of fetching jittery red lines and arrows, before giving up the ghost completely, but Mick came to the rescue and we got to Junction Goole in time for the concert by Eduardo Niebla.
In the first part of the evening, Eduardo was joined by Matthew Robinson on Spanish guitar, Willemijn Steenbakkers on violin and Dharmesh Parmar on Indian tabla. We were sitting right at the front, and I think Finn McCardle would have loved what Dharmesh was playing. The music was gorgeous and it was difficult not to leap up and dance; the tabla complimented and echoed what was being played on the guitars and the violin soared over the top; it made me wish that I knew more about music so I could steal some of the chord sequences, but ignorance has kept me honest.
After the interval, Goole's School of Rock, the East Riding Theatre Choir, and the band that Laura plays in, Ukulele Junction, all crowded on the the stage and performed two of Eduardo's compositions, songs based on the poetry of Ian McMillan. They were lovely to listen to, beautifully arranged and played: it felt like an honour to be there. At the end, Eduardo gave every performer a pannetone, which he had stacked up on the stage in the interval.
Laura, you were great!
Thank you to Mick and June for getting a ticket for me.
And today? Up at the crack of dawn and a very smooth and uneventful drive home down the A1, my favourite road and probably the subject of the next song, if what I sang into the phone is any good. and this afternoon? Writing lectures.
Next thing? Supporting the Nightingales and Ted Chippington at the Sebright Arms on Wednesday. I'm on at 7.45 and then I get to watch two really excellent things afterwards. Namaste!