We looked around . . . we are all getting very old: us, and him. We all beat on, endlessly into the past, as someone once said. Is the new music any good? Not really. We had hitherto condemned 'Black Cloud' to be the 'career' low but . . . SE,TTR . . . what a bitter, curmudgeonly and humourless way to waste three minutes of your life: him, moaning about his money. Please, if this is as good as it can get these days. . . perhaps, enough. Still, the old ones come back to pat our heads and we shell out, stand out and listen. But, we're all getting towards the end, all our tanks are running low, not long now.
Still! Blackpool! The lights! The noise! The nonces and the rough trade! We loved that bit. Funnily enough, the spectacle of THAT gig in THIS place seems oddly apt, the two experiences sit so well together. Two tatty old whores down on their luck yet dreaming of better days and still getting up each morning to slap on the stick and hit the streets once again, that's Me and Mr Shandy, Blackpool and HIM.
Mr Shandy and myself will be doing a pilgrimage of the piers later then a train back to Manchester mid-afternoon. Will we ever return?
The clocks go back soon. The clocks go back. Back.