It’s Jazzed The Fab Four

Work was a tale of two halves today. Dead busy in the morning, and because I worked too hard, I had nothing to do after lunch. The working day was broken up by lunch. Determined to eat somewhere else, I walked in the opposite direction to the sandwich shop which has become too much of a regular haunt for me. I approached the retro pub, which was where I intended to go, but that was closed and so I kept walking. I walked for ages, passing houses and buildings that were not helpful in my quest for food. I eventually came across a Vietnamese restaurant and so settled on that. They are everywhere out here. Oases of healthy food in a desert of stodge.

As I had nothing to do in the afternoon and no authority to dish out any work to me, I took it upon myself to try and get hold of some people to maybe do a story on them. I contacted a group who work with the refugees in Prague, a guy who visits the detention centre for the refugees, which is a couple of hours outside of Prague, an arts space that has been putting on ‘hate free breakfasts’ and a group that perform ‘ayahuasca’ ceremonies somewhere in the Czech Republic. Hopefully I’ll get at least one story out of that lot.

I left work at 5:30 and headed home for a quick bite of food before heading out to watch The Beatles in Jazz. I found the jazz club; nice, and went to a nearby bar for a few drinks. The bar was like a poor mans Hard Rock Café. Guitar shaped tables littered the room; all with the word ‘Budweiser’ stamped on them, and it shared the space with a little clothes shop. I sank a couple of buds, the only beer on sale, and then hit the jazz club

It was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a smoky den with little round tables dotted about the place. The seats were a cross between the cinema and church and only a handful actually faced the stage. Over here you have to either watch jazz facing the wall and only listening with your left ear, or sit awkwardly in your seat and crick your neck. There were loads of seats reserved, including mine. Most had the person’s names on but there was one little section for VIP’s. The VIP’s didn’t show up until after the interval and none were famous. They spoke with English accents and looked like they were on a works conference or a frighteningly tame stag do.

I had arrived early so got a beer and settled down for the sound check. They’d play a song for ten seconds or so and then the lead singer would tell someone off, mainly the pianist. She didn’t say anything during the gig though and I reckon they made loads of mistakes. It didn’t work for me. It was nothing like Nirvana in reggae. I enjoyed it when they played their own songs and it was a funny experience but I wish I’d gone to see the ‘Doors’ tribute band that was playing in a club across the road instead.

Post gig I made my way to the tube station and as it was late I’d be catching the tube by a whisker again, so I duly jumped on the one heading in the wrong direction as it was about to leave the platform. I was lucky that I had time to correct my error and swap tubes at the next station. It’s too wet to spend the nights walking the streets at the moment.

It had been a hard day’s night.  I was cold, wet, tired and drunk and so after a quick snack of some kind of chocolate pastry thing I hit the hay.

 

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