Billy No-Mates.

Er, I don’t suppose anyone reading this is going to the Sons & Daughters/Clor gig at the Nottingham Rescue Rooms tonight, are they?

I’d hate to give you the impression that I have no social life, but none of the usual gig-going gang could be persuaded to come along to this one, and I do prefer a bit of company at these things.

God, that sounds tragic.

Well, if you’re down there this evening and you spot me – down the front, left hand side of the stage as you look at it, somewhere around the far corner of the bar, pint in hand, guilty fag in mouth (they’re my only company!) – then please do feel free to march up and introduce yourself.

(Please note that the preferred form of address is: “Oh my God you’re TROUBLED DEEE-VA you blog is AMAAAA-ZING I read you ALL THE TIME!” I shall then graciously acknowledge your presence, dipping my head bashfully as if to bury my face beneath a non-existent Lady Di fringe. Them’s the rules. Don’t get out a pen and paper, though; that would just be unseemly.)

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