—It's prim down south - Weymouth seafront
Weymouth, 24th February 2013
Finally we leave Weymouth after being waylaid in Bridport along the coast. The show was in the Electric Palace, a well-preserved cinema with some lovely early 20th century fittings. Or were they fixtures? The town seems populated by the posh and I strain to hear a local accent anywhere. Across the road from the venue I buy a little knife from a locksmith and go exploring before the soundcheck, looking for something to slice. I visit a cool little bar/cafe on the main street where the owner shakes my hand and a slightly pissed punter accuses me in a most friendly manner of being the singer of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He thinks I’m being modest when I deny responsibility for that nineties atrocity. I committed the other nineties atrocity. I have some tea and listen to the proprietor’s soft soul playlist emanating from a pair of quality speakers then cross the street to browse in Waterstone’s. The extreme chill has softened so I abandon an earlier plan to buy an emergency hat. Besides, Bridport’s two hat shops are shut. The hat shops are shut! The hat shops are shut!
We take our leave of the south coast’s chalky downs spotting Chimp Charles’s hideous Poundbury model town en route, sitting atop a hill like some Swiftian nightmare. Stupid pompous meddling imbecile. The terrain flattens out as we pass Tolpuddle and head inland. I see some pretty churches and enormous gates for some grand estate. The clergy and the gentry; still locked in tandem, keeping the peasants down.
Bromsgrove is an in-between type of place but its arts centre is new and not half bad. Another 90s/zeroes construction among the many on this circuit commemorating the days of New Labour and public spending on the arts. I find a Wi-Fi signal in the foyer and watch the League Cup final on my phone. At half-time I idly watch a flock of small birds flitter in and out of the shrubbery beyond the big glass windows. I feel like a model in an old architecture magazine. I see my battery is draining along with my enthusiasm for living so make for the safety of the dressing room to load up on tea and snacks. A change of scenery is a little comfort for the soul. A Sunday night sort of show follows and we steal from the theatre under cover of the cold night to the safe house of the feathered Hilton on the edge of town.
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Have been an admirer of the tunes for years but never had seen you on stage ’til Bromsgrove on 24th Feb. Now I am a blokey bloke in his fifites and my dear wife is of similar age so we have been and done all the adulation and fanatic stuff years ago with various bands that have come and gone or who remain with their ever growing rough edges…. But FFS you were bloody amazing Justin and left us wanting very much more. THANK YOU for the entertainment and yes there really isnt much you can write about Bromsgrove on a cold winter evening. But we spent the 40minute journey home talking about the show, got home put on some Del Amitri stuff and talked more whilst making adolescent postings and rants about how good the show was on Facebook. Only interupted by the Tesco “Devils Food” curry for two picked up on the way home. Our sincere postings being met with replies such as “Oh I always thought Del Amitri was a bloke” or just a polite “Like” from an unknowledgeable relative or friend who actually isnt. Anyway whatever you made of the audience or venue me and Mrs. T. had a great night. Hope to see you again cos regret all the F’ing times Ive said” Oh JC’s on at such n such. maybe next time eh?” Sorry and THANKS