Saw the Irish folk singer Christy Moore at the Union Chapel last night and ran into Woody Harrelson. I believe I am becoming a celebrity anti-stalker. They all seem to be following me around trying to be my friend. First Angus Deayton, then Liv Tyler, and now Woody.
I got a call from Irish John just as I was finishing my dinner. John always seems to have spare tickets for everything he goes to. He had a spare ticket for Christy Moore, so I chucked my dirty dishes out the window and tottled off the Union Chapel.
The Chapel is about a ten minute walk from where I live at the moment, and is an absolutely gorgeous venue. It is (as you might expect) a Chapel converted into a theatre that does mainly folky type stuff. It's a little odd architecturally in that is it broader than it is deep which makes it work a bit better as a theatre I think. There are more good seats than there would be otherwise. Unfortunately, by the time I got there the show had already started and all these good seats were taken. There were a few crap ones dotted here and there but we chose to stand by the sound dudes instead.From there we had a great view of Christy and his cohorts. Unfortunately, I can't remember who they were. My knowledge of Irish folk singers is limited.
While we were standing there, Woody came up to us with a mysterious oriental woman and a girl of about ten in tow. I think he was too shy to talk to me directly so he asked the guy next to me if the doorway we stood next to was to the loos. Thilling! Then he literally brushed past me and went in search of relief elsewhere. A few minutes later the trio was back and stood next to us for most of the concert. I considered striking up a conversation with him but I decided not to risk it. What if he flew into a rage? A few months ago, he got angry and beat the hell out of a London Taxi-Cab. I may be a tough old man of the bush but there is no way I'm going toe to toe with a guy who picks a fight with a London Taxi. As a cyclist I know that you just don't mess with a London Taxi. They're big. They're metal. And they don't take no guff.
Oh, and the conert was grand, by the way. And we had a pint on the way home. And I plugged the great Stan Rogers to Irish John and The Wee Seonaid and told them Harris and the Mare is the saddest Canadian folk song ever written and The Mary Ellen Carter is the most uplifting.
And so a toast, "To the memory of Stan Rogers and the living soul of Christy Moore. And to that poor nameless black cab that got its ass kicked by a hollywood star". Slange.