The Correspondents

Rich and I love going to gigs, nowadays it’s only a few times a year and, this past Friday, was an utterly awesome gig. We first saw The Correspondents at Womad in 2012. L had just turned 4 and T was 6. The Correspondents played in the middle of the afternoon but the festival life was too much for L who fell asleep on me. We were at the front of the crowd, me carrying L while T was on R’s shoulders and we danced as much as is possible with the sleeping weight of a four year old.

In the olden days we would go out to eat before a gig but, with a reciprocal babysitting agreement with a friend, that just isn’t possible. We’d have to set off too early since we usually get home late. Nowadays we pop into tesco en route and grab a sarnie and a pack of crisps- last of the big spenders! The car journey is used to unwind, to de-parent and link up as grown ups again, and we really do need to spend half an hour doing this, tentatively chatting, feeling our way through the conversation until we find ourselves again.

We parked at Cabot Circus, Bristol’s big shopping centre, which, were it a hotel, would be 5⭐️. It has car park luxury beyond imagining!! We headed to the venue, a small, 250 capacity building which is attached to a pub. Although separate business’ now, there was evidence that they had, originally, been linked. We went in the pub first, a large 18th-century pub with oak panelling and a stone fireplace. It was set out in a higgeldy piggeldy mish mash, the stairs to the loo passed windows looking out onto a roof terrace and led to more stairs, leading back down again, to a private area, possibly behind the bar. Rich and I perched at the corner of a large table, we’d reached the point of hugging and a certain amount of PDA (T hates us to be affectionate and reacts in quite an extreme way when we are).
R spotted a fly buzzing around in his beer glass, I put my fingers in to encourage it out of the vicinity of his beer but had the unfortunate affect of making it tombstone into the dark, craft nectar. As we watched, the fly displayed an incredible front crawl technique then it tread water (beer?) quite lazily, sipping the liquid as it relaxed. R took careful sips, keeping a very close eye on the fly, and once the beer was finished I rescued the fly from the glass, placing it on dry area of table to allow it to air out but that fly had a taste for beer, it stood up and walked, leaving a zig zag snailtrail of beer behind it, straight back to the glass… It looked bereft when the barman arrived to collect the glass. A drunk fly calling out, “You’re my best mate, I love you sooooooo much!” to the glass as it flew through the air.

The venue, The Exchange, opened at 8pm and we wandered over at about 8:30. It was reminiscent of music venues of the 80s, dark and slightly scruffy with posters of bands around the walls. The bar tender had short hair, green at one side and turquoise at the other, tucked under a black beanie. Her nose and eyebrow were pierced and she had beautifully clear, blue eyes. R ordered a beer but I don’t like to drink too much before gigs (as designated driver I was on water) so I don’t need to miss anything while visiting the loo! We went into the room with the stage, there were a few groups of people dotted around but we were able to get almost to the front with a great view. Directly in front of us was a couple who looked quite chilled and to the left a group of about six students (that’s a guess based on their ages).

A DJ was playing some great music, an eclectic mix of electro swing, 90s rave, rock n roll and cheesy greats. The crowd was revving up, the venue getting fuller. On older guy (probably about our age) arrived with beers for the couple in front of us shortly before R went to the loo. He was a big chap, broad chest encased in a smart waistcoat so I stepped to the left a few paces to allow him space. I was then behind the students. There were three blokes and three girls, lounging leisurely against the stage, chatting genially. Suddenly, the tallest of the girls came and stood forcefully next to me – digging her elbows into me, using her size to attempt to intimidate me away from where I was. Now, I’ve been gigging and clubbing for longer than she’s been alive and I’ve come against this kind of thing before, I generally stand my ground, ignore the person (invariably female) and carry on dancing. I really can’t be bothered with petty dance floor wars but this girl was determined! She then got hold of the smallest of the guys and started snogging him, quite passionately, while still digging every sharp part of her body into me. Then I got it… I had stood near her boyfriend. In a very busy, incredibly small, music venue. Her boyfriend who was young enough to be my son 😂😂😂.

R got back and we danced together, singing along to the music and having a laugh together. We were pretty solidly packed in by now, at 9:30, expectant vibes were running through the crowd and a panicked look was starting to creep onto the DJs face…

He was obviously reaching the dregs of his record collection as Tom Jones came on. I texted the babysitter to say that we were still waiting and she was absolutely fine with us being late.

Next to me the possessive posturing was still going on, she made herself as big as possible, standing behind her man and cuddling him with her elbows out, at one point snogging him with me trapped in the tangle. I did feel sorry for her, how hard it must be to feel so insecure that you feel the need to push a 47 year old woman out of the way in case she’s eyeing up your bae.

And just as the buzz crescendoed, Mr Bruce and Chuck arriving on stage, from the back of the crowd two small women appeared, eyes shining with excitement and drink. R and I ushered them in front of us so they could see, they were so much fun, our whole area, to the front, right of the stage, danced with everything we had, singing along to all the songs. On the stage, Chuck was spinning his disks while Mr Bruce sang and danced his flexible, manic dancing. He linked in with us, the crowd, and the group of rather tall guys behind us piled in to a tiny space next to us to get a better look at Mr Bruce’s awesome body. We bounced off each other, nobody caring that someone was on their foot or in their space. The energy so high.

Mr Bruce announced that he couldn’t be bothered with the whole pretending to leave and getting called back so we were going to do a last three minutes of crazy jungle. Even after they finished people didn’t leave straight away, the buzz was too strong.

Knowing we needed to get back, R and I made our way to the loo. In front of me in the queue was a woman with pink hair, it was a beautiful shade. I commented on it and we ended up talking – she, her mum and myself. It turned out they they, also, had been at the front at Womad, six years ago! Such a small world 😌

I always love the peace of driving home after a gig – radio 4 talking late night stuff to us, our chat quieting down as we make our way eastwards along the M4 once more.

Below is the DJ. I intended to crop this photo but took too much pleasure in accidently having photographed the boyfriend… This was before I was aware that he was The Boyfriend. He’s the guy in the centre with dark, Curly Hair.

Mr Bruce

A short excerpt: I prefer to watch life in reality rather than through a lens.