Reasonable Behaviour

“Hey.”

“How ya doin’?”

“What can I get ya?”

“Kronenburg and a vodka and coke with ice please.”

“Who’s this?”

“Eh?”

“What’s the name of the band?”

“Don’t ask me, I just work here.”

Is he being funny or just humorless? Mind you, he is working. I’m not looking forward to working after uni. Those eight thirty faces bring it all back; all jowls and frowns.

“That’ll be five fifty, please.”

Jesus! Forgot what a rip-off this place was.

“There ya go.”

“Ta.”

“See ya.”

“We’re ‘The New York Fund’ and this our last song.”

“They’re pretty good,” says Juliette.

“Yeah, not bad.”

“Come on! Are you gonna fuckin’ join in or what?”

How to alienate an audience Pt. One.

“Goodnight and thanks for being such a great audience,” mumbles the bearded singer, more than a little sarcastically.

“Moody bugger,” I say to Juliette, giggling into the dregs of her first vodka.

“Who’s the guy behind the bar?” she asks.

“Bob. He’s in a coupla my classes. Must be his first night, he’s a bit rabbit in the headlights. Good job the place is pretty empty.”

“Two, two. Chk,” blurts the one and only roadie.

“I wonder why it’s so empty?” I shout over the crunch of the guitar.

“Dunno, he always does well, probably the ticket price, fourteen quid is a bit steep.”

Right at the front, nobody above six feet in height and good sound, there has to be something…

“Yip! Yip! Yip!” And here it is, in the shape of a weedy little weasel, high on pork scratchings and medium strength beer. The longer I spend on my own, sat reading, writing, whatever, the stronger my faith in humanity becomes. However, it doesn’t take long for extreme misanthropy to swim to my jaw and fists. I could give him a quick, hard knee to the balls when the lights go down and all will be well. I suppose I’d better behave myself. God, when did I get so reasonable?

As the lights dim and Ed Harcourt saunters on stage with his familiarly gruff “Hello,” I resist my base instincts.

“Love you Ed!” screams the wiry fuckwit to my left.

Ed, it appears, is not in the best of moods.

“Sorry if I sound a bit fucked. I’ve had this flu thing for about a week now, I had to cancel last night’s show, but here I am in Northampton.”

“What’s wrong with Northampton,” shouts a blonde girl at the front.

“I didn’t say there was, did I? Jesus! I’ve said that at nearly every date so far this year and you’re the first one to complain. You know, there’s just no… Oh, whatever.”

Oh dear.

He sounds great. Song after song of quiet beauty sang perfectly sadly and alone. However, the weasel is starting to grate with his between song comments and Americanised whoops. I glare in his face; Juliette pulls my elbow as he lapses into a momentary silence.

“Beneath The Heart Of Darkness
Lies an old machine that’s dying

Beneath The Heart Of Darkness
Beneath The Heart Of Darkness
Beneath The Heart Of Darkness
Beneath The Heart Of Darkness.”

A head pops between the weasel and me. A middle-aged bespectacled woman politely but forcefully asks the little rodent to be quiet. Just in time for the last song.

“I wish you the most success
More than I could ever have
I wish you the most happiness
And good friends are hard to find

Social loners and deadbeat hacks
I open my arms for you
Cynical romantics want their money back

I wish you the most success
More than I could ever have
I wish you the most happiness
And good friends are hard to find
Good friends are hard to find.”

Aw. Sniff.

An enthusiastic round of applause heralds the end of the show and beautiful it was too, one of the best for some time. The lights are still down; the weasel is walking backwards enthusing to his friends. I place a careless foot in the path of the drunken fool; he staggers, pirouettes and lands on his back. His drink catapults in the air and lands with a crunch on his crotch.

“Jack!” whispers Juliette.

“What?”