The Bad Shepherds

It's been a mad five days. I've driven 1,300 miles. I just put all the route points into google maps - from Devon to London to Yorkshire to Harlech to Cambridge to Suffolk to Gosport and back up to London - and it looks like a small child has scribbled all over the map. Did four very different gigs. Played Harlech Castle where people arrived with their own fold up chairs and - without being told - placed them in neat rows (they even made an aisle in the middle!). The trouble with people sitting neatly in rows is that it all gets a bit polite. Cambridge Festival was an absolute stormer. We loved it. The place was totally rammed and they were really up for it. It was without doubt our best gig to date. A gig only really happens in the space between the performers and the audience - there has to be a spark, they have to work off each other - and Cambridge was brilliant. The next day we played Hachfest. There was almost a fight backstage with some young long-haired drunk bloke who was either attacking me or trying to snog me - I couldn't really tell which - either way it wasn't what I really wanted. There was a bit of shoving and shouting and people waving there arms about. All the fun of the fair, really. Andy was playing with my daughter, Ella, back at Cambridge the next day, so Troy and I went along to wobble about, watch bands and drink ourselves into a ferment of holiday-like pleasure. The weather forecast was not good so we invested in two pairs of cheap wellingtons, but the day turned out to be a scorcher, and by mid afternoon our hot rubber boots were very sweaty indeed. We considered drilling holes in them to let the heat and moisture out, but luckily we could not find a suitable spike - we were already several pints in and had we found one I think we might have done our feet serious damage. Ella did a brilliant, brilliant set. She played the Club Tent and it was packed to the gills. She's got such a natural stage presence that I'm really quite jealous of. The other band I really liked were Mumford & Sons - compelling lyrics, fantastic voice, exciting banjo player - they had a real presence and a power. Sort of Nick Cave/Neil Young/Gram Parsons cross. Luckily by the end of the day it completely pissed down and Troy and I danced gaily about in the mud and puddles, showing off our wellies. It's fair to say we were completely pissed... and completely muddy by the end. No-one can remember getting back to the hotel, but in the morning I could see where I'd been by the trail of muddy footprints. Next day we were at Stokes Bay Festival. It was a shit journey from Cambridge to Gosport - useless fucking roadworks, and average speed cameras, and inconsiderate bastards having accidents and clogging up the M3, the M27 and the A32 with their mangled vehicles and broken bodies. So we arrived hot and cross and bored and hungover, and it didn't look like it was going to be much cop, but as we played the audience got into it and it ended up being a really warm and friendly gig. Drove back home and slept like a dead monkey.