Adventures in a Pub on a Cold, Wet Sunday Evening

Ladies and Gentlemen, what follows is why I had to start blogging again...

Last Sunday the clocks went back. I was still feeling a bit wrung out and the weather was diabolical and then of course, it was dark by 5 pm. I'd put on my comfy clothes, snuggled down on my favourite corner of the sofa, got my Shiny Things nearby and basically got ready for an evening in reading a trashy book.

When I started hanging out with Lawrence last year, he introduced me to Norwich's gig scene. We'd go down to Jurnet's Bar in Wensum Lodge for their Acoustic Nights, listen to acts play their funky music. We'd go to Olives on Magdalene Street for Penguin's Acoustic and Eclectic evenings. I've seen some amazing bands and my music collection has grown because of it. What I've really loved is getting to know the museos in the bands, thanks to the power of Facebook and the fact that Norwich is actually a small village really. 

One such band is Das Fenster and the Alibis. Voodoo rock'n'roll with a dangerous edge. I am pretty sure we were at their first ever gig and we've been following them around ever since.

Lawrence was working over the weekend, and I was not feeling up to much, so we agreed that Das Fenster's gig on the Sunday evening was probably a no-go. I snuggled down, got my iPad out and then it started.

A poet, who I will call H asked if I was going and then there was a quick flurry of exchanges with another poet J, joining in. In the end, I got up off my butt, changed and picked up J. Off we went to the pub, very early as it turned out.

Now the Edward VIII advertises itself as a 'live music venue'. It's not in the most salubrious area and it's not the most well-heeled establishment, but it's fun. In we go. I sent a text to Lawrence saying I was there, with poets.

We caught up, drank and waited H and her husband M to rock up. There was much kissing of cheeks when they did.

Das Fenster and the Alibis are a trio. There's Das Fenster on lead vocals, guitar and occasionally piano, Pearly Gates on double base and Stagger Lee on drums. The pub soon filled up. What the poets and I hadn't realised is that it was published as a Halloween affair, with loads of people turning up in fancy dress. The walls, pictures, beer pumps were draped with cobwebs, spiders and bats. Witches and pumpkins adorned the windows; all illuminated by UV light which made the whole thing a little bit creepy. Think luminescent cobwebs...

They got up, introduced themselves and started playing. In the year since I've known them they've only got better, adding new material and they are great show men. I won't go into too much detail, but click on the links for a taste of the music. I'm nagging for the album they're busy recording.

So anyway, they start and so do two hecklers. I'm not sure what it is about drunk men, they think they are so funny. At one point I wondered whether this was going to be my first ever pub brawl. Happily, they reigned it in a bit, with the occasional comment from the floor. The poets and I sat in the corner up on bar stools, which meant I could see. What we hadn't realised is that we were sitting over the smoke machine, which enthusiastically set to work. Unfortunately, it did it's job too well, getting to the point where I couldn't see a foot in front of my face.

There's a certain cool factor to the lead singer saying from the stage, between tracks "Lawrence, Roses is sat in the corner over there!" Lawrence had arrived and couldn't see me in the smoke and darkness. My night was complete as far as I was concerned...what did I know? They played my favourite song "I won't go back" and it was stonking. I had to have jiggle.

When the gig ended, Lawrence accompanied me outside as I had a nicotine break, the pub secures the doors once the gigs start and it took us a minute to realise we had to lean on the front door to keep it open so we could get back in. We were joined by one of the hecklers and his girlfriend. Both were well in their cups. I smoked in silence whilst they slurred their way through their conversation and then I unwisely I looked at Lawrence and pointed out how patient he was being.

The heckler's girlfriend peered at him and then looked me straight in the eye and announced "It means he's crap at sex!" 

WTF?

"I wouldn't say that at all." Was my mild reply. My first job was in my dad's pub. There's very little that can shake, rattle and roll me. I've seen it, heard it and frankly, if she thought she could shock me, she was disappointed.

"Oi loik you. You're nice people." She puts her arm around me, squashes me to her net jumper and introduces herself and her boyfriend.

"What's your names?"

Quick as a flash, without even a pause, Lawrence says he's 'Eric' and I'm 'Louisa'.

Lousia? Really?

If I'd have stayed home on my sofa, I'd have missed out on this experience. Definitely worth getting dressed for.

Downtime

Rather than go on about work: frantic run up to Christmas, still no idea what's going on, or how I'm supposed to sort out paperwork, managing not to swing for bean counters who are jumped up jobsworthies. I thought I'd share our weekend away.

The Viking took me to Cardiff to see The Police. Yes, you read right. I went to The Police gig, with a policeman. See, I am keeping my sense of humour. We dashed out of Norwich after my day at college, though that soon turned to 'crawled', as we made our way round the M25 in rush hour traffic. We ended up staying in a small hotel in Cardiff Gates on the edge of a business estate.There were two disadvantages to chosing this hotel, though by the time my Viking booked the hotel, there wasn't much of a choice as 45,000 other people wanted to be there too. First, Cardiff wasn't easily accessibly. When the Viking rang up he was assured that there was a bus that ran not far from the hotel, I immediately thought - goodie. It turns out that the bus stop was a half-an hour walk away. We decided to take a taxi into town instead, far quicker. The Second, and most heinious of all: the hotel was drier than the Salt Lake Desert. There was no bar, no pub, no drinkies to be had at all! Bloody shocking I tell you. Yes, I did make my displeasure know. It's not that I'm a lush (she says typing as she sips a glass of something naughty), it was the principle of the thing. We were away for an off-white weekend (as opposed to dirty, because we had to come back on the Saturday), we should have been able to indulge in a little tipple, or three; damn it. I won't complain too much as the hotel room was clean and spacious, the breakfast not too bad at all, the staff smiled, and meant it.

Cardiff is a sneaky city. I didn't fall in love with it, the way I fell for Dublin, it kind of crept up on me, charming me with endearments and knowing smiles. The Viking wanted to do the Millenium thing by Cardiff Bay, where Torchwood is filmed, I wanted to do Cardiff Castle. So we started with the Millenium thing. It was a glorious day, really bright, but with just enough of a bite in the air to let you know it's Winter. I loved the towering water-feature opposite the massive Millenium Centre and took several arty shots of the Viking and I cuddled up in front. Cardiff Bay seems to be home to every chain except Wagamamas, which seemed a bit sad really, especially since I really fancied some chain noodles. The Bay was like glass and unfortunately we missed the chance to grab a water taxi to the Millenium Stadium, by 10 minutes. We popped into the Dr Who exhibition and got Hottie her very own sonic screwdriver and then made our way to the Castle by train.

The Castle was great. We took a tour round the Victorian House which really was designed and paid for by two men who had more money than taste. Hand on heart you couldn't even call them Chavs, because the family were really OLD money. But goodness. There were rooms painted in genuine gold leaf, with marble, carved wood, crystals, quite a few astrological symbols and a painted devil. I loved it; though I'm glad I didn't have to live in it, as I'm sure it would be a complete bugger to heat in the winter and I do like to keep warm. The guide was brilliant, knew his stuff and had a great sense of humour. By the way, if you'd like to rent the banquetting hall for a function, it'll only set you back £500 an hour, and be assured food and service is extra. After the tour we went into the Keep, Viking leaping and bounding, me following very tentatively. I don't like heights and rickety wooden stairs.

By the time we were chucked out of there I was ready for a drink and we talked about heading over to the Millenium Stadium to the gig. Doors opened at 16.30, but as we had named, nosebleed seats, we didn't feel like hurrying to just wait around. I was quite enthralled by the local constabulary, much to my boyfriend's amusement. What can I say? I do like a man in uniform. Though not paramedics, sorry Tom, it's just the nasty green polyester doesn't do it for me. After squeezing into a local hostelry I finally got my drink. It was worth the wait.

Then we trooped off to the gig. The crowd was ever so good natured. We had a laugh with the door staff and with the people who sat around us. The seats really were nosebleed, but thanks to the big screen, we did actually see Sting and the lads. The set was great. All the favourite old hits and some that I didn't know as well. Sting's voice was on form again and he looked and sounded fantastic. I realise I really am getting old. When Don't Stand So Close to Me came out, I was just getting into music, I was younger than Rowan is now. One thing is for certain, Sting is aging better than I. He looks amazing; and all by the power of yoga, if he is to be believed. Maybe I ought to get out a yoga dvd? It was a brilliant night, I had loads of fun bopping and singing along. There's just something about a live gig, that beats a cd or the dvd footage. I suppose it's the atmosphere, the crowd singing and dancing along, the musicians' banter between themselves and the crowd.

The next day we left Cardiff and headed back to Norwich, but on a magical mystery tour. It was my first time in Wales and the countryside was shown to it's best in the bright winter sunshine. My Viking wouldn't tell me where we were going, we just drove. After driving for over an hour and a half, he asked me if I'd figured out where we were going yet. I just shook my head; I didn't have a clue. Next minute I know we pull into Hay-on-Wye. To my shame, I was completely ignorant of this town's existence, but the few hours we spent trolling through the craft and book shops, I know I definitely want to go back. But next time, I want to have lots more money to spend. The books! The fabulous books. I was so good up until the last book shop. I managed to put back the thrillers, the horrors and romance, I did get an amazing mug, but I was really, really good. If I bought the stuff that I saw and wanted, I'd be eating beans and doing over-time for the rest of the year. But then, the last book shop we went into, I got caught. I just wanted a reader in media studies, that's all. I came out with about 10 books ranging from academic to Dennis Weatley. *sigh*. I didn't dare go into the poetry bookshop.

I had such a good time away, it was just what I needed, to look at different countryside and different sights. And as I sit here typing, with an empty glass and half of my sundried tomatoe-stuffed olives, I realise that home isn't too bad either. Even if it is just me and the cat this half-term.