Taxi

I worked in Liverpool on the 16th. It’s quite a trek from Leamington Spa. I was willing the client to stop denying aspects of the offence so I could get back in the car and head south more quickly. I was booked to be in Doncaster the next day so it was tempting to stay in the north and not go to see Karine Polwart, as booked weeks previously, that night but I did. And I was so glad I did. The Sat Nav took me on a meander around Coventry and its inner ring road before I came upon the venue; Taylor John’s House. This was a ticketless venue and my internet booking had produced a reference number which I had to give on the door. There was obviously an announcement of some kind just as I did this since, as I entered the bar, the majority of the bar's occupants moved into the performance area. Like a sheep I followed them. Well, more like a sheep that didn’t want to risk not getting a seat and having to stand for two hours. The performance area was fairly small and tunnel-like and reminded of The Cavern. It seemed tragic that after treading the boards for so many years Karine Polwart is still playing in such small venues. The seating arrangements were curious. There were wooden school chairs set out in rows and benches along the walls and then stacks of chairs from which you could select one and place it where you saw fit. Clearly, for the majority of those attending, there was then the standing option. I then became a sheep that rather fancied a drink and a trip to the toilet but didn’t dare risk losing his seat. I noticed people leave to get a drink and find themselves chairless when they returned. I wasn’t risking that. Within minutes the support act squeezed themselves onto the stage. They were called Lewis Garland and The Kett Rebellion. The songs were okay, although the lyrics were rather adolescent, but the most interesting thing was the band and their arrangements for the songs. There was the upright bass player who thought he was playing funk, a mandolin player who was playing sea shanties and a guy (who I hope doesn’t refer to himself as a musician) playing bongos and making beatbox noises. Lewis himself had a singing style which occasionally made me think of Aran sweaters, sandals, beards and folk singers singing with their eyes closed and their head tilted upwards. He had a CD to sell but the SatNav hadn’t taken me past an ATM and my hopes that the price of his CD’s would be exactly the £4.86 I had in my pocket were dashed so I couldn’t buy one.
Then came Karine accompanied by her brother Steven on guitar and vocals and Inge Thomson on piano accordion and vocals. The harmonies, guitar playing and Karine’s singing were all perfection. In a world where Cheryl Cole, with all of the dancing and singing talent of Helen Keller, is classed as a star and some people perform as if they’re wearing a ‘How bloody brilliant am I?’ t-shirt some people just quietly get on with being completely brilliant. She likes to tell little stories about the songs but Steven also talked quite a bit, largely to tease Inge. Since she was standing in front of a large white square that probably had films projected onto it at other times this evening’s teasing largely involved encouraging her to make shadow puppets with her hands. Karine encouraged us to buy Inge’s CD which she thought was “lovely and quirky”. Just before their final song Karine mentioned that she had an EP for sale and this would be her last release for some time since she planned to take the next three or four years off from recording and touring to be a mum. I was saddened by this. What did she mean spend more time with her son? Why couldn’t she be like a proper celebrity and parade her children around like designer handbags until they’re adolescent and can be photographed falling out of clubs covered in tattoos and members of the opposite sex? The CD had to be mine so I needed to find an ATM.
I rushed out of the venue, returned to my car and drove until I found an ATM. I pocketed my cash, got back into the car and took the SatNav from the glove compartment to re-enter the postcode for Taylor John’s house. A man then landed on the bonnet of the car before crawling around to the driver’s side window. He knocked on the glass and I lowered the window a centimetre. He put his eyes to the gap and the wiggling tips of his finders through it. I could smell the alcohol through the gap. He'd clearly been trying to preserve his body in alcohol for some time.

Pisshead: “My friend, you don’t need that. I’ll give you directions if you give me a lift”

Me: “Mmm?“

Pisshead: “Are you from Coventry? Coventry people are good people. Give me a lift”

Me: “I’m not from Coventry”

Pisshead: “Go on, mate, give me a lift. Don't be a wanker about it. I'll give you money.
I’ve left my wife at home on her own”.

Me: “Well, you should have stayed home and stayed sober”.

He banged his hand against the window as i drove off. I thought about reversing over him but knew this could cost me precious seconds that i could spend with Karine so I headed back to the venue. I got there fifteen minutes after the end of the show and the CD buying frenzy was coming to an end. I bought her EP, got a signature, and we had a little chat about the film ‘Creation’ since she’d taken part in a songwriting workshop about Darwin during the summer. I also bought Inge’s CD, which has indeed turned out to be quirky. It’s like chill out music on the piano accordion. I love it. Of course I then bought Jess Gardland’s CD.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmxytyDWur0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wns8KD2_U40&feature=related