I went to see a gig tonight. Not of the comedy kind. But a popular beat combo with guitars and everything. They were a band called Weakend and are something to do with an old friend of mine. And they were very good. A disappointingly small crowd at the Hope & Anchor in Islington (come on londoners, do things in the week…) but a good evening.
For those of you that haven’t been to the Hope & Anchor the downstairs band playing stage area is very small. And when a band play there really is nowhere to hide.
As I went through the door to pay to get in, I handed over the fiver to the chap at the desk (or table) and he asked me “Are you here to see the band?” I replied that I was and he ticked a box on his piece of paper on his clipboard.
What kind of survey is this? What were the other options? You’re not going to be there for any other reason. Perhaps the read a book box was left mysteriously unticked.
There was a man there, this is not unusual.
He was giving my friend Dawn ‘the look’ (it’s the look, it’s the look, the look of luh-uh-uhove lookoflove) and when I arrived she pointed him out as pleather man.
I took a look, I know that she has an aversion to pleather, though I don’t mind, I am even guilty of owning a pair (though unworn for two years) so I presumed that the repulsion was more based on his material of choice.
I looked. This was not normal pleather. It was the cheap fake leather of cheap argos cushions. And the cut was an odd biggles type style with zips down the leg.
Unless this man had some huge pus-filled spores over his legs and had to ensure that they were not touched by material, but if they did burst, then they wouldn’t be able to seep through.
He also had a dog collar on, so I presumed him to be some kind of goth. And daresay probably quite an attractive man. Then he turned round. He was about 40 – not that this is old. But I feel that 25 is pushing acceptable pleather wearing age.
So pleather man, if you are reading this. You know who you are – buy some denim.