(to quote Ben) "Now that sounds like a story…"

In all, it was.

I stink, however the clever application of a clean shirt and trews may be helping… however I doubt it.

Got to work Friday morning at 10.

Missed the train I wanted to get.

I get on the DLR and head on off to Stratford.

Left Paul’s house, having had to shake him awake with a “You need to be at work by 8:30”. We leave his house at 8:05. He doesn’t make it to work on time.

Paul fell asleep in the back of the taxi. The driver was like “where do you want to stop?”… I had no idea and I had to physically pull Paul up out of his seat to agree that where we were was good enough.


Sat outside Baker St Station whilst Paul slept til he was a bit more sensible. We eventually got a taxi to take us back to A Road In The Docklands.

I was unable to find out from Paul his address in London for 3 hours, so I was unable to hail a cab.

A group of 10 of us went back to Sally’s flat tp drink champage and eat the world’s smallest “large” pizzas. I got to dance with Sal. She liked me. It would seem. I have a “good arse”. It would seem.

At the aftershow, I skillfully ignored: Billy Bragg, Stelios and many Radio 2 DJs. Including the Gambachini. And Alan Yentob. But I did speak to a man called Lewis who is rather important, it would seem. Didn’t stop me using sweary words in his presence though.

During the performance I had to go for a wee during the playing of “Graceland”. I guess I’d had too much beer…



[Pic: Steve Gadd on Drums, Paul Simon on acoustic, Vincent Nguini on rhythm. Mark Stewart is behind the head on the left.]


At the start of the performance, when it’s broadcast next Saturday, you may hear me yell “Come on!” in an over-the-top kind of way.


A quick, expensive taxi ride and we were in the venue by 7:55. No entry after 8pm.


We picked up the aftershow tickets from a ginger DJ’s producer, whilst the ginger one cowered in a restaurant. We’d been hunting them down since 7:15 when we were sat outside Liverpool St Station. We then had to leg it to Gt Portland St, go to R2, R1, a random pub, and then find this restaurant where Helen the producer (with whom the DJ is, er, “involved”) handed over an envelope.

Paul arrives and spends a lot of the time between 4pm and 7pm negotiating with various people for yet more tickets and aftershow party wristbands whilst we drink copious amounts of beer.

I meet my old IBM manager, Maf, for a quick lunchtime drink at 2:30pm. We don’t stop lunchtime until 6:45.

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3 Responses to (to quote Ben) "Now that sounds like a story…"

  1. Unc says:

    It sounds from the rambling incoherence of the authors account that it must have been a very good gig. (It was a gig wasn’t it?) (or is it so clever that I have missed the raison detre? ) ( a bit like Brando putting his gum under the balcony rail in Last Tango in Paris. What a raison that was Wow!)
    Oh by the way who (if it was a gig) did you go and see?

  2. Unc says:

    PS Oh by the way how do you “tp drink Champagne”? Is that how posh people do it?

  3. Unc says:

    Oh I get it now – you have to read it backwards! Damn clever these arty types.

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