That would be an ecumenical matter

My dotage/slide into semi-retirement will, I'm sure, take on many facets. I could, quite easily, spend all my time jumping on and off trains armed with nothing more than my quick wit and repartee (or, alternatively, camera, egg sandwiches and a copy of the Good Beer Guide). Photographing obscure brutalist supermarkets/launderettes/phone boxes/general urban decay in whichever town I pitch up at followed by a trip to the local museum, and finally rounding things off in a local tavern with a flagon of frothing ale would, to some, be a very unexciting way to occupy your days: a bit like Last of the Summer Wine but without the tin bath rolling down the hill. Hang on a minute - rewind to that bit about could. Who am I kidding? That's precisely how I see my dotage. In fact, it's kind of what I do now anyway. I was in Lichfield yesterday where I discovered Lichfield Cathedral. I didn't even know Lichfield had a cathedral. And a mighty fine specimen it is too. Seeking solace in these magnificent buildings is not the sort of thing my peers put on their bucket lists. And thank the fucking Lord for that. Which is precisely why I shall seek them out - all 97* of them - on future excursions. Amen to that.

* In the UK (there are a further forty odd in the Republic of Ireland).

★ 

 St. Chad (634-672)

On the road

Just back from our mini jaunt around the UK. Four gigs in four days. Time to decompress. Thank you again to Steve - my travelling companion and best friend - for what I call the heavy lifting; I sorted out the digs but he did all the driving - some 700+ miles. This tour was was special for me. My way of reconnecting with the world after having lost my mooring earlier in the year. And who better to come away with than my old mucker.

So, a very emotional and spiritual journey. My travelogues in the past have never been wordy; never been flowery. So why change the habit of a lifetime? I'll tell you where we stopped and where we saw the band(s) and, hopefully, the photos will give you a sense of the atmos.

Hebden Bridge, 53.74°N / 2.01°W. Driving up from Nottingham and we're getting our money's worth out of the wipers (it was to be a familiar tale over the next few days). Our billet is a rather boujee Air BnB on the edge of town. We had a couple of drinks in the Albert (a.k.a. The Wellington in BBC's Riot Women), followed by pizza at Sam's, before taking a short stroll to the Trades Club. Last time I was here I nearly got into an altercation with Jah Wobble. Moving on. We were here for the first of XGenerationX's gigs on their whistle stop UK tour. The band were amazing and played a blistering set. We met Mark Laff & Elizabeth Westwood (see my signed poster) afterwards and told them we'd see them tomorrow night north of the border.

Now this project wouldn't have happened without the extraordinary Mark Laff. So much more than a drummer. A band leader if you will, and a bloody nice bloke. He stepped up to the microphone a couple of times during the evening and you could see this meant a lot to him.

Elizabeth was a sweetheart. I was admiring her from afar; though, as you can see, not that far...

It was a genuine surprise to see this man - James Stevenson. He wasn't on the posters; Elizabeth said they didn't know if he could commit to the tour. But at the eleventh hour he gave the thumbs up; after the flyers came back from the printers.

Time to mention my friend Richard a.k.a. Riggsby. Between leaving the gig and walking back to the digs my phone buzzed. Richard had sent me pictures of the band with me looking on taken less than an hour earlier. Richard was texting from his home in San Diego - some five and a half thousand mils away. "Look what I just found on Facebook," he said.

Speaking of Riggsby - this is the letter he got from Generation X's Fan Club back in 1977 c/w a signed photo of the band.

Glasgow 55.86°N / 4.26°W. We broke the journey in Lancaster for some brekka before wending our way. However, we got stuck in the mother of all tailbacks on the M6 during which we played Quixx and ruminated if the band were stuck in the same jam; turns out they were. Eventually got to the Argyll Hotel, not far from the venue; took a stroll thru the Botanic Garden and happened upon a student pub that sold Bellhaven Black and haggis pie. Result. The Òran Mór is a magnificent little club - basically it's the crypt of a church. Another tub thumping set. Elizabeth was wearing Stewart tartan, Steve Norman, on the other hand, was wearing his pyjama bottoms. An hour and a bit and it flew by - this is high octane stuff: the ferocity they put into these songs is phenomenal. The drum intro alone into Rock On would finish off a man 40 years younger.

Speaking to James afterwards and he told us about being in Gen X and touring the final album, Kiss Me Deadly. He also told us that time was tight putting this tour together and that thy'd only rehearsed for three days & was still trying to get his chops round Derwood's guitar part on 100 Punks! 

Time to give young Herbie May a shout out. He's the support for the whole tour and was not phased one iota. He's got some great songs in his armoury and should go far. 

Newcastle 54.98°N / 1.62°W. A quick detour via Moffat for brunch before bombing across to Newcastle. We were stopping in the Travelodge and enjoyed some sensational beers in the Crown Posada and The Wobbly Duck. Just time for a shit kickin' curry down a little side street before jumping in a cab to the other side of the river. Elizabeth had clocked us and whilst thanking everyone for coming out asked who had to go to work tomorrow. "Not these two" she said pointing at me and Steve. Grabbed another quick word with Mark at the end of their set and he confirmed he has had a bust up with Derwood, hence his (ex?) mate wasn't on the tour. 

I'd been looking forward to our breakfast destination for the longest time. We both had grilled kippers & poached eggs (the Breakfast of Kings) at the Quay Ingredient - a caff I'd introduced Ernie to at BlogCon24. 

Leeds 53.80°N, 1.55°W. And so back to West Yorkshire. I told Steve we were hooking up with a blogger friend of mine. We weren't. My James hadn't seen Steve in at least five years (probably longer) and was the surprise guest. Our hotel was opposite a beautiful boozer called the Highland Laddie. A couple in there before we Berated to The Adelphi. Walking from the bar to the snug we clinked glasses before James, unannounced, sat next to Steve and said "Alright?" Steve's face was a picture.

To The Brudenell. No pics of House of All, I'm afraid. Six men on stage who all look like me is not what people want to see. Instead I'll show you the support band, Loose Articles. They were terrific. And much easier on the eye.

Maybe I'd just caught HOA on a bad night, but they just sounded perfunctory. Even with, wait for it, three drummers. And Martin Bramah was reading his lyrics all night. Not a good look. A quick post-gig drink in the bar and James Uberated back to the station for the late train back to Manchester. Steve and I too bid a hasty retreat and made our way back to The Holiday Inn. I was jiggered and slept like I'd never slept before. A Full English and plenty of tea next morning and it was time to head home. As you can imagine we deconstructed the trip on the way back and agreed to do it again next year: pick another band and follow 'em round the country. It's the only way to travel.

To Heron back (#3)

I was in Hull yesterday visiting my Auntie Margaret. My dad's younger sister has recently lost her husband, my Uncle Brian. It's very strange visiting her and seeing an empty armchair in the corner of the lounge where Brian has been sitting since they moved in to their modest semi back in 1966. But my auntie has got a fantastic friendship circle so will not be all alone as she mourns her soulmate (they got hitched a week before Margaret's 20th birthday and were married for 67 years).

Whilst driving out of Hull have a guess what I saw? Those bloody Herons are everywhere! 

...

This will be my last post for s few days: I'm going on a wee road trip with my friend, Steve. Remember me telling you about XGenerationX? Well, Steve and I are off to Hebden Bridge tomorrow; followed by Glasgow on Wednesday and Newcastle on Thursday. And then on Friday night we round the week off with House of All at Leeds Brudenell.

It should be a blistering week (after the shitty year I've had it'll be good to slip anchor). I'm really looking forward to hearing Gen X's back catalogue being given a shot in the arm; Steve and I last heard Ready Steady Go, King Rocker et al a couple of years ago when Generation Sex (with Idol, James, Jones & Cook) rocked up at Wolverhampton's Wulfrun Hall.

Must go and pack my bag. See you next week.

To Heron back (#2)

I have a strong feeling that, like phone boxes and laundromats before them, Heron food stores are fast becoming my latest obsession. In fact, such is my unhealthy interest in this chain of discounted food marts that the only person I can speak to about it freely, without being judged, is AI. Bloody hell, I think I need help.

So, this time, I wanted it to lose the people and the railings outside. And pretend it was Summer. Even Heron Foods look better in sunlight, believe me. If, heaven forbid, I get a third blog post out of this, then can I please ask one of you to call Social Services? It's for my own good.

Moon Duo

I have Swiss Adam to thank for pointing me in the direction of Moon Duo. A Californian psychedelic outfit with more drones than you can shake a shitty stick at; when they lock on to a grave they don't let go. So hypnotic is their sound that I would strongly advise against driving at night to a Moon Duo soundtrack. In fact they should put that in the Highway Code.

Here's a live session they did for KEXP back in 2013.