Lazarus Basil and the Three Legged People - Fun Thing #298

Ho hum, it's been a funny old week. I've been travelling far afield again (well Cardiff and Bristol), but in my few days absence so much occurred......

• Everyone seemed to go mad, or possibly have a good time, robbed as they were of my dour presence glowering away in the corners. What I'm trying to infer is that certain people of my acquaintance did not carry themselves with their usual decorum, well I say decorum, I mean drunken stumbling. It's a pretty shoddy state of affairs when you can't even stumble. Ah, bless them, it's good to blow off some steam, and only a churlish soul would sulk at having missed out. I'm not one begrudge a bit of excitement, especially as the flat was lovely and tidy upon my return.

• The walls of the hallway got plastered, like some steam blowing people I could mention... (maybe I'm alittle churlish). Actually the plastering is a huge surprise, can't believe the landlord is actually doing some work to the place!

• My basil died - it was a mere six months old. I was heartbroken, No, more! I was utterly wretched; how could I have been so wanton as to leave my special friend in my flatmate's pernicious 'care'.... as you can tell from the title it did come back from the dead, although now it looks like it wants blood.

Okay, when I say "so much happened" I mean a few random occurrences that, aside from the basil, impact on my life in no way whatsoever. Let's not underestimate the impact of that basil though! I love the plant like a member of my own family - more even. It was initially a strange part of the one-up-manship against my ex, who I lost a whole bottle of Lagavulin too when I bet that his basil (which was always on death's door) wouldn't make it until New Year. It did. Then it died. Selfish bloody plant - it never liked me. To be accurate I actually lost two bottles of Lagavulin - one was a miniature; I tried to get out of the bet by stating that he hadn't specified bottle size, which was true, but apparently this piece of legal genuis was dishonerable.

Anyway, aside from the usefulness of the herb in making pasta just that little special, my basil had much meaning of its own. I bought it when I moved back here and it has been carefully nurtured ever since. Okay, okay not that carefully as it's wedged into a broken plant pot I found lying round outside, it's been knocked off its little pedestal and smashed across the floor, it's usually underwatered, and when it's upright, potted and drenched in H2O it's probably cold. I still didn't like to see it in its wrinkly green decay though. It was a dead-un.

...Or not, as I mentioned before (no cadence of suspence here). No, the basil had merely being pining for me, bless it, all the way to the point of dessication. After a night spent in my nice warm room it has returned to life; all hail the basil, it shall be known as Lazarus and my godlike powers shall be worshipped by all. It may have been the water that my flatmate gave it, when she realised she may have killed it and I was on the way back. Surely not though! Surely not something so mundane!

As for me, well I had an interesting time too; I was puzzled to find three cast off boots in lying in the streets of Cardiff. Had there been some sort of three legged person experiencing shoe induced pain, throwing off the boots of doom? Maybe some shoe cult, admittedly a small cult of two people, but one person couldn't bear to give up their right boot? Maybe it was a custom to leave a boot on this particular street? Or perhaps it was rapid evolution in action, and just like that fossilised snake found with legs, the boots are representative of a stage in human evolution where we're casting off our legs so we can do the caterpillar all the better. Except again, one person couldn't quite commit to the trend and was forced to hop. Who knows?

Music Review - The Shortwave Set

The Shortwave Set proved to be a class act last night. Playing to a criminally underpopulated Clwb Ifor Bach, in the first date of their 'Glitches and Bugs' tour, they shone out as being something a little bit special. Their avant-garde electronica proved to be both smart and engaging; there is a lot to love about this UK-Swedish three-piece.

The set itself was rather short, and little experimental; somewhat dissappointingly it didn't include some of their strongest tunes from their latest album 'Replica Sun Machine', but new stuff was thrown into the frey and it's reassuring to know there is more to come. The sound they produced, even in that tiny little club, had a polished quality that came straight from their album; 'No Social' went down well and Ulrika Bjorsne's voice was, in particular, utterly entrancing.

All in all the music had a powerful mesmeric quality that washed over the ten people who constituted the audience. I can't recommend this band enough; if you want a night of very fine chilled out indie music you could do no better. The Shortwave Set are a crowd with huge appeal.

Support was from Cosmo Jarvis - the name says it all, but they were a happy lot, with some interesting harmonising.

Leave for Civilisation only to go back in time - Fun Thing # 92

A Night of 50s Music....

Just call me Marty. It might not be everyone's idea of a great time; you hit the big smoke, have a few drinks and then see a rather odd man, dressed up as someone about 30 years younger and long dead, singing songs... in obscene leather trousers. Thrusting. I, er, didn't enjoy that part I hasten to add.

That's right I had a night of watching a bunch of singers pretending to be long dead popstars: it was called 'In Dreams'. At times it came closer to some of my nightmares.

The Billy Fury impressionist and the rictus of terror that was my face aside, a great time was to be had when I actually focused on the music; there were songs there that should never have been forgotten, or rather relegated to a night of dodgy entertainment; like Conway Twitty's (I know, I know, stupid name) 'It's Only Make Believe'. Generally despite all the sinister references to sixteen year olds, or bizarre lyrics that can only be indicative of a generation abuzz with pent up frustration there are some just simply fantastic songs. Obviously I'm being extremely patronising there as the era was a font of musical diversity and change. Admist all the costumes, bad Dusty Springfield wigs and hand clapping, some of that spirit crossed over; old ladies found the energy to dance in the aisles, whilst I sat complaining of bad knees and feeling asphyxiated by the fug of their floral perfumes. Well, a couple of old ladies were twisting the night away, but the majority of the female audience were accompanied by old men husbands who flatly refused to get up and make a spectacle of themselves, thank you very much! One boogie orientated grandmother danced alone. Like that Sting song, well excepting the state sanctioned excecutions....

I've just realised from my use of the phrase "boogie orientated" that it is entirely possible I am still drunk. The only thing to add is that tomorrow I'm visiting a cheese festival.