Yesterday was my birthday (discretion prevents me from revealing my current age).
Handily enough, there was a pre-planned shindig happening: a concert featuring Salter Cane and three other bands (not in my honour, you understand). Less handy was the fact that the concert took place in London.
Much driving and map reading was involved once we had crammed ourselves and our instruments into our little transportation device. We were like the country bumpkins heading off to the Capitol City to gape at its high-falutin’ modern ways.
The concert went okay. One of the other bands, The Shout Out Louds, who were great, came all the way from Sweden. That made the drive up from Brighton seem like a bit less of an odyssey.
My birthday celebrations had to wait until after we had played: despite being a common rock’n’roll combination, alcohol and music don’t mix. Our drummer, Catherine, brought along a bottle of fine champagne to toast my birthday and she managed to blag some glasses from the bar staff.
Driving back through London, crossing the Thames over Tower Bridge, I was struck as always by the sheer weight of history pressing down on almost every inch of the city.
It’s an amazing city although I’m not sure I’d want to live there; it felt awfully nice to get back to the relative tranquility of Brighton. Still, I really need to make an effort to get up there more often.