Bitter Ruin

I just played a gig with the wonderful band, Bitter Ruin. I've not eaten anything this evening and my head is spinning a little as a result of the adrenaline which performing again has generated. It was a tiny little gig at Blacks club on Dean Street, in a curiously decadent room, lined with sofas and fabrics in bohemian colours. I only played one song, a stunning track called Brand New Me. There's really nothing like making music with high quality players, especially when the song you're performing makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. I felt genuinely proud to be part of the line-up. 

I think it went well. It's not always easy to tell very when you can't hear yourself that clearly, but I enjoyed the experience and didn't feel at all nervous, which is, I've no doubt, a good thing.

Playing the 'cello is a painful business, however. Apart from my finger tips being covered in little blisters, the instrument itself is intensely heavy and the walk from Soho to Leicester Square was excruciating; the shoulder strap digging into my neck like nothing I've ever experienced, with the possible exception of the last time I carried my 'cello on the tube (!), although I'm pretty sure one builds up a tolerance to these things. 

On the plus side, lugging a 'cello about in Soho seems to attract an enormous amount of attention. Everywhere I looked, I was aware of people trying to catch my eye, and three people tried to chat me up. Everyone wants to date a 'cellist. Maybe it's the hat, or the shirt I'm wearing, but I haven't felt like such a belle of the ball since my mid 20s! I must remember this in the future, as its quite a morale boost for a man on the slow march to forty...

I've just caught my reflection in the tube window. I look like a Parisian from the 1950s. Like someone in a Doisneau photograph. If I carry this case for much longer, however, I'm gonna end up looking like Quasi Modo!