That was a tough gig. Okay, so I arrive and the usual kerfuffle ensues, namely nowhere to sit no space to play. I manage to make it through all the usual rigmarole (let's face it, I am inured to the lack of space, the high frequency of background noise and miserable pay by now). So. I play, and sing, like the wind howling at 75 mph. I mean I really went for it, like never before, as though my house, possessions and life depended upon it (which in this case, it actually did). The boss asked, "Would you like some cider?" (I already had some). Then followed up with, "You're not getting paid for this." What on earth? You mean, you gave me a weeks notice, we have a table of fifteen booked at Won's Westwon, and I take the night off to work for what, a glass of mulled cider which you had been given anyway? Are you out of your mind? Man, I was so pissed off, like you wouldn't believe. I played a great set: among which was the number "Keep on swinging" by Rival Sons. I felt gutted. All that effort for nothing, nothing whatsoever. I was fuming. Livid. A short prayer and I was undecided between "playing hardball" with the boss (id est: saying to her, "Look. I took the night off. I fulfilled my half of the bargain, now you make good on yours, or I never play this establishment again." and just walking out). She could see I was pissed off, as I sat sullenly brooding. The next thing you know, I was paid, as if by magic. I didn't say anything, she just did it. I surmise that my boss has such a thing as a conscience.
It was nice to see Mark Rainbow (from the set of Far From the Madding Crowd) who told me all sorts of really great stories about him and the cast from Who's Line Is It Anyway. I perhaps should have not spent quite so long talking to his wife, but it was amicable. All in all it was a tough gig. Man, I'm beat, but I must get back to the grind. TMA time. We're burning daylight. Saturn's wheel waits for no man.
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