A preivew booked in Llangollen with Robin Ince today, should have been a nice easy journey up, if I hadn’t gotten to the station a bit late that is, still early for train, but obviously later than when virgin like to take the information off the board.
In my experience 2 mins before the train leaves is when one most needs the information on the board. but information came none, no one was around to ask and the minute ticked over to one after the time my ticket said.
I eventually found someone from virgin who almost gleefully told me that the train had gone and that my ticket wasn’t valid on the next – I gleefully called him a rude word, stating incredulously that I would not be paying £50 for a fucking isngle ticket and would chance a stand-off with the ticket inspector.
Then I calmed down and realised I needed rage to attack an inspector and by the time I was an hour into the journey I’d be my normal timid self, and so reluctantly I bought a ticket.
I missed my original connection by an agonising 2 minutes at Birmingham New Street, and therefore my next connection at Coventry, making me perilously close to being late for a gig that started at eight.
I phone ahead and was kindly booked a taxi by the venue from Chirk, the station at which i was landing (that is the proper term… fuck off) to the gig in llangollen (a town that don’t even have a station). This turned out to be very handy, I had presumed I could get a bus or at least pickup a taxi from the Chirk station… Silly me with my London ways. Chirk is an unmanned station, and, by the looks of it, and unmanned town.
My taxi arrived eventually and a woman drove me to the gig, telling me she’d never travelled on a train and never would, and only once went on a coach when she was a girl. I figured that coach journey must have been very bad to put her off public transport, off of it so much that she becomes a taxi driver to dissuade people from trains and coaches.
the gig was nicely set up, full and not at all good for a preview, it was one of my fears that a saturday night small town gig would be more demanding than the little forgiving studio rooms that suit a preview.
my standup went down very well for the first 20 mins or so, then I launched into some story about a girl called Ethel and the entire room got bored. so I aborted any notion of a preview and did the rest of the hour as standup – all well and good, but I’m hardly famed for my hour-long stand up sets – and by 50 mins I was aching to get off.
sat and watched Robin who had what seemed like a good gig, but was silently relived when he told me that he agreed this was no place for a preview and that he’d not done much new stuff.
I had a hotel in the town booked, but my old Willesden Green flatmate tom had called to tell me that his pig farm was only ten miles from Llangollen and did I want to spend the night there? I bloody did.
I figured I could just not bother cancelling the hotel, but got the number off the gig and dialled into my phone just in case. then I tried to ring Claire and accidentally rang the hotel. I hung up, then felt guilty and re-rang, nearly hanging up again when they answered.
i told them my name and that I wouldn’t need the room. after about five minutes of round the houses talk she finally ascertained that I was booked via the gig. She sounded annoyed when the penny dropped. I asked if the room had been paid for, she said no, I then asked if it would still have to be… she said that it depended on my conscience really.
I told her I’d send her cheque
So far I haven’t…