Day 125. Jung guns. (4/5/19)

I don't know what it's like elsewhere as I've only got here so I've nothing to compare it to but...

Does anywhere else do the arts community as well as Liverpool?

Last night I had the choice of three things to do:

Hope Street Theatre for Weave by John Maguire starring (and I DO mean 'starring') the always brilliant Samantha Alton. Which isn't her real name. You don't need her real name. Though you may know it.

Parr Street studios for the Writing On The Wall festival's Violette records linked offering 'If they don't read, don't **** them'; a night of spoken word and poetry that looked excellent and sold out very bloody quickly (as do all Violette nights)

The Philharmonic Music Room for Wreckless Eric being supported by the ever excellent Vinny Peculiar.

The real joy of all this? I know all these people. Personally. Through gigs, through theatre, through friends, I know these people and they're all lovely and brilliant. I've seen their stuff, they've seen my stuff, we move in the same circles and those circles keep growing, expanding, and overlapping.

And everybody's work touches everybody else and everything lifts up. There's constant support and constant invention.

Everybody knows that Liverpool is basically the biggest village on earth. We all know each other, we all think everybody we know is genuinely boss and we make sure we say it.

Tonight would be another one. The Buffalo Riot at 81 Renshaw St. A venue owned by my mate Neil, a gig promoted by my mate Paul and a band that contains two mates of mine. They've been compared to War On Drugs but they're far more interesting.

And I'd be there. But for Liverpool Football Club. If it was just a normal game, I'd skip watching, I'd be there. But we don't do normal games any longer. Every game is crucial. And this has been the case since the beginning of August last year. It will be the case from the beginning of August this year. This is the rest of our lives. All games from now on are must win.

A paragraph that blues will turn off at. Which is a shame as I'm about to talk about a band led by a blue.

(Soundtrack: Professor Yaffle, the title track from their new album 'A Brand New Morning'. Because my mate Lee is the singer and my mates Reid and Steph - who both played Reid's material for my play Half The Sky, which I seriously need to do again - play on this track.)

As I sat to start this I saw that the new album was now available for pre-order. And once PayPal decides to behave itself I'll be pre-ordering this. The last album was a double CD of sheer effortless joy. This will be the same but slightly different. Yaffle are special. Get on them.

Another special thing to get on: 16 Tambourines playing a one off gig in November to celebrate the 30th anniversary of their excellent 'How Green Is Your Valley' album. Tickets went on sale this morning. I got mine immediately. On the 9th of November I'm going to party like it's 1988.

For one night only, I'll be 24 again.

Liverpool, it's really bloody good.

(By the way, we went to see Weave. Bumped into Sam outside the theatre. It's the only time in my life I've hugged a woman in a towel on Hope Street. I could give you more detail but then it wouldn't be mysterious, would it?)

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