Nothing like getting up early to take a wander ‘round the cold, alternately snowy and slushy streets of Lambeth looking for a post office which might not exist where a package for someone who isn’t me might need to be picked up if it’s there. Actually it wasn’t that bad, Tina agreed to come with me to pick up the package (which was after all, hers), and after a shorter walk there than I expected, we caught the bus to Harrods, where we had both wanted to go for some time. In fact it actually took us longer to get to Harrods than it did to get to the P.O, since I directed us to get off at the wrong stop, and tried to improvise the route in the wrong direction.
Harrods is incredible. I have never been to a department store which has made me feel so inadequate. Even the cost of the underwear was prohibitively expensive. Not specifically to either me or Tina, but in general. I was also disappointed to note the ease I had in finding the perfect tweed jacket to fit a three year old child, when I myself had been having tremendous difficulty. Of course, the price was enough to bankrupt a major city, let alone a three year old. The pet section also contained a few surprises, like gourmet flavoured bones, and dog beer.
At this point the keen reader may have noticed a trend in the pricing system at Harrods, and their food was no exception. The cheapest hotdog they offered was fourteen pounds. Both Tina and I made the decision to order whatever we wanted without looking at the price and after having eaten that, we went halves in a chocolate icecream yoghurt with choc chips, raspberries, brownies and 23 carat gold flakes. Thank god we went halves.
Then it was back to Oxford street, probably the street we returned to the most during our stay in London, to do some shopping, or rather, so Tina could do some shopping.
This short shopping excursion was woefully curtailed (after about two and a half hours) by our joint realization that we probably should leave to make sure we weren’t late to the gig which we had arranged for the night a few weeks earlier. As it turned out, we had more than an hour to spare by the time we got back to the flat, but there you go.
One of the acoustic acts was clearly very much influenced by the same style of guitar playing, probably even the same select few artists as me. This was something which was quite evident in his set as he played solo, using a looping stompbox, and Tasman couldn’t resist pointing it out at every opportunity. Considering the fact that his set went for about twenty minutes, this was quite a lot of opportunity, and quite a lot of pointing out.
We were the first of the electric acts to play, and after a fairly shaky start with Lucy’s guitar cutting out on our first song, we played a blinder. Definitely the best gig we’ve had over here, and definitely my favourite. We seemed to engage with the crowd, and we all had fun. I finally got to use my Electric Mistress footpedal, which I’ve been aching to use since I bought it about three weeks ago, not realizing that I didn’t have an amp to use it with at the apartment. There’s never anything more fun on stage as learning to use a new pedal in the middle of a set, and eventually I found a nice David Gilmour-y sound to use on some solos. Tasman said it was awesome.
Unfortunately (and there is always a but or a however or an unfortunately), we were immediately followed by the comedy stylings of someone with little to no sense of style, or indeed comedy. It sort of killed the mood in much the same way as a man dying on stage might have done and it developed into him doing precisely that quite quickly.