"I think it's just that the band's appeal is becoming more selective..."

Back in the saddle with the Picturehouse posse and we decamp to Needham Market for the evening on a glorious warm Bank Holiday weekend saturday. Now you can blame it on the sunshine, possibly the moonlight even, at a push, on the smoking ban, but it becomes apparent that our usual jokey "We're still pulling them in then?" when confronted by a large empty space where the audience should be, is going to be eerily prophetic. Come showtime there are eight people desultorily hanging out at the tables in front of us. We make sure that everyone's got a drink and has been to the toilet, and we begin. 

It's been a while since we played together, notwithstanding last week's expedition up the road where The Old Drummer stood in for the night, and we are surrised to find that we are playing remarkably well. Seeings as how we're amongst friends we throw in a few things we haven't played for a while and it becomes clear that, proportionally at least, we're going down better than we have for ages, so we throw a few more in. The piped music in the bar hasn't been switched off, so the 'tween song banter has the air of being performed as if on an afternoon radio show, with guesses being made as to what we're listening to, and we're all having a good old time. 

A short break wherein we try and name acts that contain a weapon in their names - Britney Spears being one inspired suggestion - and we're back on track - trying out that new Pink Floyd number (not medleyed into the Haircut 100 song as was suggested at rehearsal) and with several filthy adaptions of song titles issuing forth from behind the kit, where The Drummer has discarded his top in the balmy summer heat and sits with his glowing hirsute chest and tattoos proudly on display. "Look" says The Other Guitarist "He's taken off his shirt" (-beat-) "...and put on a jumper!". 

A lady of certain vintage gets up and dances enthusiastically as we pile into the party set for no other reason than because it's fun. A couple of late arrivals boost us into double figures, we take a couple of requests and bring the evening to a happy conclusion. The dancing lady collars us outside and launches into an enthusiastic summary of our performance in a mixture of broken English and rapid Spanish. There is something about the guitarra in there which sounds definitely complimentary, which is nice, and we pack up in an eerie, silent and deserted bar, which looks exactly as it did when we came in. It is all very odd.

Still, it gives us time to admire anew The Drummer's refurbished kit. He has covered it in fake zebra hide. "Well, I was bored" he explains. It's very nice. Well, we're assuming it's fake....