She said she was from Australia. I asked her if she was lost. She then said she was a mental health nurse. I decided not to tell her any of my stories about the health and safety issues related to low flying cats. The nuns were in the Asda this morning too. They were smiling. They were smiling a lot and those, apparently unconnected, events gave me plenty to philosophically ponder while Brownbear and Mark W Georgsson played at The Georgian Hotel in the posh part of Coatbridge.
Mark W Georgsson first. A local Coatbridge boy, he has apparently been off the playing field for a while but, nonetheless, he still managed to avoid any own goals with a set of songs that seemed like they should be on first division turf.
That said, if you really wanted to guarantee that the ball hits the back of the net with the regularity that would put you right at the top of the premier league then you would want Brownbear as your star striker. His most worthy songwriting skills demonstrated the tried and trusted benefits of practice and, even without a team on stage with him, he had little trouble putting his songs straight into said net from all the way back at the centreline. Add in his self-effacing humour and it was never less than obvious to any and all commentators that he was going to be the winner.
Leaving a gig feeling a whole lot better than you did when you went in works for me and that was tonight’s final result. As for the rest of the day’s events, I shall assume it was some sort of psychological trickery from the opposing team to distract me from the joy of music. Naturally, it didn’t work.