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It was just like old times going up to London on the National Express coach yesterday. Even the in-coach TV had episodes of The Simpsons and My Dad's The Prime Minister that I'd seen on the same route back in the dim distant days of this time last year.
The hotel, in Earl's Court, was quite nice; my room was a bit small, but pleasant, and you can't complain about £45 for a night in central London. It was run by Italians, and incorporated an Italian restaurant, though I was already spending money I didn't have on this trip as it was so settled for an Angus Meal at Burger King. When I'd unpacked, I switched on the TV and caught the last 10 minutes of last Christmas's Dr Who.
Arrived at the Brixton Academy not long after 7pm; the queue was right round to the back, and I was right behind a group of Germans, one of whom had a St Pauli T-shirt on (top man). The queue moved fairly quickly and I was inside in less than 10 minutes. It wasn't long before I saw a couple of women collecting for Justice For Kirsty, so I chucked a pound in one of their buckets. They gave me a new leaflet and asked me to send off the attached card.
The leaflet had a message from Jean MacColl on it, explaining how she's still just running up against delays and inaction in Mexico, and had a card to write your name and address on and send to the new Mexican President, Filipe Calderon, urging him to act and trigger a full new investigation into Kirsty's death and call Guillermo Gonzalez Nova to answer for his part in the incident.
Inside the auditorium, after buying a plastic bottle of Grolsch at one of the little bars I turned and met two girls who also had JFK buckets. They immediately spotted my Kirsty T-shirt and said "You look like you'd like to contribute to Justice For Kirsty." I said I'd given to their friends outside, they asked if I'd got a leaflet and I said yes. "Make sure you send it," they replied. When I asked if they were on the fans' e-group they said yes, and they'd seen my name on there, but they didn't give theirs. I asked them how they were doing and they said "Slow. Everyone's still sober at the moment." They added that most of those who'd arrived so far were young, and had never heard of Kirsty.
How can anyone call themselves a Pogues fan if they have no idea who the lady on their immortal Christmas record is??
I told the girls I hoped the hard core would be along soon, and wished them a Merry Christmas.
I'm eternally grateful to my dear mother for getting me the ticket as a Christmas gift, but I wished, wished, wished I was in the seats again, like the two previous Pogues Christmas reunion gigs I've been to. This time I was in the stalls; I took up a position on the left-hand side, about half to two-thirds of the way back from the stage, guessing I'd be safely out of the mosh pit.
Alas, Murphy's Law was well and truly in action. The spot where I was standing was bang on the direct route of absolutely everybody who came passing through the area to get to the loo or the bar. For the two hours before the Pogues came on, including the support Larrikin Love's set, I was having to shift a little to let people pass about once every thirty seconds (and twice I was simply manhandled out of the way), not easy given that the place was packed.
At five past nine, with everyone well hyped-up ready for Shane and Co to come on, an announcement came over the PA that due to "some idiots throwing beer over the mixing deck", the Pogues had been delayed to 9.30 as the deck had to be repaired. The announcer sounded well pissed off - as well he might, as I soon saw the announcement was being made by none other than the man behind the mixing deck. He added that "If any more beer is thrown over the mixing deck, there will be NO SHOW."
The first few Pogues came on stage at 9.25; after ten minutes of one-twos down the mikes and waiting, to a riotous roar all the band were on stage, and launched into Streams Of Whiskey. I was indeed out of the mosh pit, albeit only two rows behind it; that didn't stop two big blokes next to me deciding they wanted to jump up and down all the time anyway. After one of them had jumped on my foot for the second time, I shifted along a couple of feet, finding a little space to squeeze into. The bloke still wanted about double the size of the space that he had, and during the opening songs nearly bumped me again, and did bump the three lasses right in front of me a couple of times. Good on them, they were only petite girls but still, each time he bumped them they firmly pushed him away. He kept out of our area after that :)
After their first song, Phil Chevron said "Sorry for the late start, that was down to some c*nts throwing beer on the mixing deck! If you've got money to throw away give it to Justice For Kirsty instead of wasting it on buying beer to throw around." Massive cheer.
The Pogues were fantastic as always, and gave us all their classics, plus a couple of lesser-known numbers, including Tuesday Morning to give Spider Stacy his moment in the limelight. To my delight White City was included, but, alas, no Rain Street this time - a casualty of the shorter set. Thanks a bunch, beer-throwing wankers. Halfway through, Phil came up front to say "Six years ago tomorrow a beautiful young lady was taken from us." He explained how there'd just been a change of president in Mexico, so Jean MacColl was hoping the new administration would do more than the old one had, and urged everyone to give to JFK and take a card to send to President Calderon. Then he dedicated Thousands Are Sailing to Kirsty. Next Shane announced that he'd been told to dedicate the next song to her as well, but he didn't know why - it was Dirty Old Town. It was left to Darryl Hunt to explain to him "Her dad wrote it."
After the end of the main set, everyone knew what song we all wanted in the encore - I became aware of the guys next to me singing "An old man said to me/Won't see another one", so joined in. We'd reached "Came in at ten to one" when we were overtaken by a universal chant of "ole ole ole ole". It wasn't long before we got the first encore, still no Fairytale but the last of the three songs was one of my favourites, Sally MacLennane. When they went off again it was 11 pm; knowing the last tube went at half past, I made my way through the hordes to the back, but waited around there for a while just in case there was a second encore. There had to be - surely? They couldn't deny us Fairytale, could they? During the eight minutes of tension, I wondered whether they'd simply been unable to get a female singer this year. (But Pogues Christmas reunion tours are planned months in advance. There could be absolutely no excuse for not having a girl to do Fairytale.)
Of course, they returned - and pulled their favourite trick of keeping us in suspense to the max. They launched into a cracking rendition of The Irish Rover. Finally, Phil announced "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Ella Jane Finer." Jem's daughter appeared in a shimmering blue dress, the backdrop went black and lit up with stars, snow fell and the whole place went wild as that intro played. Everyone sang along with Shane and Ella's great performance of Fairytale, they held each other and danced around the stage as snow fell during the instrumental run-out, then after a quick cheer and clap I and several others legged it for the tube station.
A group on the tube from Brixton to Victoria gave the carriage their own Guinness-fuelled rendition of Fairytale and urged everyone, including lots of bemused people who hadn't been at the gig, to join in; I was one of just a couple who did, earning a thumbs-up which became a cheer when they saw my T-shirt. The women in the group delivered the line "So could anyone" with the most bite I've ever heard! When I got off at Victoria to change lines, the group were well into The Wild Rover.
Listening to Capital Gold in bed in the hotel this morning, I heard the wonderful news, so appropriate today, that Fairytale had slayed Slade and gone through to the semi-final of The Xmas Factor.
Having washed and shaved, I found that when I pulled the lever up on the sink, nothing happened. The plug stayed resolutely down, and no amount of playing with the lever would get it to move. My half-hearted attempts to lift it manually were of no avail either. The water and shaving foam had to be left just sitting in the sink. I went down to reception and explained the problem to the girl there. She was Italian and had only a limited grasp of English. "Did you complain yesterday?" she asked, so I told her no, I'd only used the sink this morning. She seemed to just about grasp what was up, and said she'd look into it.
The restaurant was completely crowded at breakfast, with lots of foreign students - it was like dodgems getting in line to collect my croissants, roll and coffee. There were only two tables that didn't appear full, and both had 'Reserved' labels on them, but I eventually found a free seat in between a middle-aged German couple and an English lady on her own.
Passed the time after breakfast listening to Capital Gold and reading FourFourTwo. At 10.45, just as I was about to go and check out, there came a knock on the door; I thought it'd be someone to see to the sink (all the water had drained away, but the plug remained resolutely in place; I wiped up all the shaving residue with a couple of tissues), but it was just the chambermaid. She said "Sorry, I come back later," but I said "It's all right, I'm going now" and made my way to the lift.
I had a couple of hours to kill before my coach home, so went to Eccleston Road post office and posted the card to President Calderon, then headed back to the train station for lunch - a 'Christmas Sandwich' (turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce) and a Mocha (made with Rachel's Organic Milk) from Pret A Manger.
There was no in-coach TV on the journey home, but I'd taken my Private Eye on board so was OK.
My mother's been struck down by flu, so our trips to tonight's Haslar Detention Centre carol concert and tomorrow night's Test Valley Charity Concert are cancelled. Bang goes my Christmas kiss from Maria.
Think of Kirsty today.
The hotel, in Earl's Court, was quite nice; my room was a bit small, but pleasant, and you can't complain about £45 for a night in central London. It was run by Italians, and incorporated an Italian restaurant, though I was already spending money I didn't have on this trip as it was so settled for an Angus Meal at Burger King. When I'd unpacked, I switched on the TV and caught the last 10 minutes of last Christmas's Dr Who.
Arrived at the Brixton Academy not long after 7pm; the queue was right round to the back, and I was right behind a group of Germans, one of whom had a St Pauli T-shirt on (top man). The queue moved fairly quickly and I was inside in less than 10 minutes. It wasn't long before I saw a couple of women collecting for Justice For Kirsty, so I chucked a pound in one of their buckets. They gave me a new leaflet and asked me to send off the attached card.
The leaflet had a message from Jean MacColl on it, explaining how she's still just running up against delays and inaction in Mexico, and had a card to write your name and address on and send to the new Mexican President, Filipe Calderon, urging him to act and trigger a full new investigation into Kirsty's death and call Guillermo Gonzalez Nova to answer for his part in the incident.
Inside the auditorium, after buying a plastic bottle of Grolsch at one of the little bars I turned and met two girls who also had JFK buckets. They immediately spotted my Kirsty T-shirt and said "You look like you'd like to contribute to Justice For Kirsty." I said I'd given to their friends outside, they asked if I'd got a leaflet and I said yes. "Make sure you send it," they replied. When I asked if they were on the fans' e-group they said yes, and they'd seen my name on there, but they didn't give theirs. I asked them how they were doing and they said "Slow. Everyone's still sober at the moment." They added that most of those who'd arrived so far were young, and had never heard of Kirsty.
How can anyone call themselves a Pogues fan if they have no idea who the lady on their immortal Christmas record is??
I told the girls I hoped the hard core would be along soon, and wished them a Merry Christmas.
I'm eternally grateful to my dear mother for getting me the ticket as a Christmas gift, but I wished, wished, wished I was in the seats again, like the two previous Pogues Christmas reunion gigs I've been to. This time I was in the stalls; I took up a position on the left-hand side, about half to two-thirds of the way back from the stage, guessing I'd be safely out of the mosh pit.
Alas, Murphy's Law was well and truly in action. The spot where I was standing was bang on the direct route of absolutely everybody who came passing through the area to get to the loo or the bar. For the two hours before the Pogues came on, including the support Larrikin Love's set, I was having to shift a little to let people pass about once every thirty seconds (and twice I was simply manhandled out of the way), not easy given that the place was packed.
At five past nine, with everyone well hyped-up ready for Shane and Co to come on, an announcement came over the PA that due to "some idiots throwing beer over the mixing deck", the Pogues had been delayed to 9.30 as the deck had to be repaired. The announcer sounded well pissed off - as well he might, as I soon saw the announcement was being made by none other than the man behind the mixing deck. He added that "If any more beer is thrown over the mixing deck, there will be NO SHOW."
The first few Pogues came on stage at 9.25; after ten minutes of one-twos down the mikes and waiting, to a riotous roar all the band were on stage, and launched into Streams Of Whiskey. I was indeed out of the mosh pit, albeit only two rows behind it; that didn't stop two big blokes next to me deciding they wanted to jump up and down all the time anyway. After one of them had jumped on my foot for the second time, I shifted along a couple of feet, finding a little space to squeeze into. The bloke still wanted about double the size of the space that he had, and during the opening songs nearly bumped me again, and did bump the three lasses right in front of me a couple of times. Good on them, they were only petite girls but still, each time he bumped them they firmly pushed him away. He kept out of our area after that :)
After their first song, Phil Chevron said "Sorry for the late start, that was down to some c*nts throwing beer on the mixing deck! If you've got money to throw away give it to Justice For Kirsty instead of wasting it on buying beer to throw around." Massive cheer.
The Pogues were fantastic as always, and gave us all their classics, plus a couple of lesser-known numbers, including Tuesday Morning to give Spider Stacy his moment in the limelight. To my delight White City was included, but, alas, no Rain Street this time - a casualty of the shorter set. Thanks a bunch, beer-throwing wankers. Halfway through, Phil came up front to say "Six years ago tomorrow a beautiful young lady was taken from us." He explained how there'd just been a change of president in Mexico, so Jean MacColl was hoping the new administration would do more than the old one had, and urged everyone to give to JFK and take a card to send to President Calderon. Then he dedicated Thousands Are Sailing to Kirsty. Next Shane announced that he'd been told to dedicate the next song to her as well, but he didn't know why - it was Dirty Old Town. It was left to Darryl Hunt to explain to him "Her dad wrote it."
After the end of the main set, everyone knew what song we all wanted in the encore - I became aware of the guys next to me singing "An old man said to me/Won't see another one", so joined in. We'd reached "Came in at ten to one" when we were overtaken by a universal chant of "ole ole ole ole". It wasn't long before we got the first encore, still no Fairytale but the last of the three songs was one of my favourites, Sally MacLennane. When they went off again it was 11 pm; knowing the last tube went at half past, I made my way through the hordes to the back, but waited around there for a while just in case there was a second encore. There had to be - surely? They couldn't deny us Fairytale, could they? During the eight minutes of tension, I wondered whether they'd simply been unable to get a female singer this year. (But Pogues Christmas reunion tours are planned months in advance. There could be absolutely no excuse for not having a girl to do Fairytale.)
Of course, they returned - and pulled their favourite trick of keeping us in suspense to the max. They launched into a cracking rendition of The Irish Rover. Finally, Phil announced "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Ella Jane Finer." Jem's daughter appeared in a shimmering blue dress, the backdrop went black and lit up with stars, snow fell and the whole place went wild as that intro played. Everyone sang along with Shane and Ella's great performance of Fairytale, they held each other and danced around the stage as snow fell during the instrumental run-out, then after a quick cheer and clap I and several others legged it for the tube station.
A group on the tube from Brixton to Victoria gave the carriage their own Guinness-fuelled rendition of Fairytale and urged everyone, including lots of bemused people who hadn't been at the gig, to join in; I was one of just a couple who did, earning a thumbs-up which became a cheer when they saw my T-shirt. The women in the group delivered the line "So could anyone" with the most bite I've ever heard! When I got off at Victoria to change lines, the group were well into The Wild Rover.
Listening to Capital Gold in bed in the hotel this morning, I heard the wonderful news, so appropriate today, that Fairytale had slayed Slade and gone through to the semi-final of The Xmas Factor.
Having washed and shaved, I found that when I pulled the lever up on the sink, nothing happened. The plug stayed resolutely down, and no amount of playing with the lever would get it to move. My half-hearted attempts to lift it manually were of no avail either. The water and shaving foam had to be left just sitting in the sink. I went down to reception and explained the problem to the girl there. She was Italian and had only a limited grasp of English. "Did you complain yesterday?" she asked, so I told her no, I'd only used the sink this morning. She seemed to just about grasp what was up, and said she'd look into it.
The restaurant was completely crowded at breakfast, with lots of foreign students - it was like dodgems getting in line to collect my croissants, roll and coffee. There were only two tables that didn't appear full, and both had 'Reserved' labels on them, but I eventually found a free seat in between a middle-aged German couple and an English lady on her own.
Passed the time after breakfast listening to Capital Gold and reading FourFourTwo. At 10.45, just as I was about to go and check out, there came a knock on the door; I thought it'd be someone to see to the sink (all the water had drained away, but the plug remained resolutely in place; I wiped up all the shaving residue with a couple of tissues), but it was just the chambermaid. She said "Sorry, I come back later," but I said "It's all right, I'm going now" and made my way to the lift.
I had a couple of hours to kill before my coach home, so went to Eccleston Road post office and posted the card to President Calderon, then headed back to the train station for lunch - a 'Christmas Sandwich' (turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce) and a Mocha (made with Rachel's Organic Milk) from Pret A Manger.
There was no in-coach TV on the journey home, but I'd taken my Private Eye on board so was OK.
My mother's been struck down by flu, so our trips to tonight's Haslar Detention Centre carol concert and tomorrow night's Test Valley Charity Concert are cancelled. Bang goes my Christmas kiss from Maria.
Think of Kirsty today.