Sunday, After A Gig

The pre-gig chat with Rory Macleod and his friends was a pleasure; we talked about travelling, and he told me about his partner's love of bees. We talked about Glaswegian parents, and our children, and all sorts of other things.

Still fatigued from post-viral Covid stuff, it had been all I could do to walk up the steep Lewes hill to the club. Fortified by some of Rory's chips, my muscles reconnected to their nerve-endings and once my guitar was on, the gig was on too.

Folk music audiences are a big change for me; they were seated at tables, but thankfully, smiling and very receptive. Shelley and Phil came along as my guests, and I hope they enjoyed the evening. It was one of those nights that I knew I could sing At The Bathing Pond and have people join in, and join in they did, with gusto. I can't explain how much support acts like me appreciate the audience turning up and listening. I also knew they were taking in the lyrics, because there were laughs at the funny bits, even the hidden sly ones that people often miss. Thank you!

Then Rory went into the crowd with his harmonica and serenaded people one-by-one; he's a proper entertainer, and they loved every bit of it. I saw his first song before tumbling down the hill to the station and coming home; we'll both be at Rebellion and I'll see his set there. I had apologised in advance for my feebleness, and he was very gracious about it. Normally one of the greatest pleasures of playing live is watching the other artists and enjoying (and learning) from them.

Hats off to the promoter Seth for picking up Fozzy's gigs and running with them. That's a brave thing to do when you're in mourning for  a mate, but he did it.

Today, there is a glimmer of normality in my physical and mental state. I'd been hoping to go to Lambeth County Show but the thought of the crowds is terrifying. Instead, I'm sitting in front of the TV and the Come Dine With Me Omnibus with a bag of crisps. Outside there's a solo blue-tit, alternately eating a seed and tweeting about it [sorry!]. It's utterly charming.

Tomorrow, back to recording and, I hope, back to strength. The crisps will help, I know it.