Greetings from the geriatric ward...
This has not been Headstone's week. First the fool managed to up-end himself, tripping over his treasured
skinning-up granite and sailing through the air with Klinnsman-like grace (Arsene Wenger is reported to have said "I
did not see eet"). This left him with a massive limp. Then he caught the flu. Then, even as the foot began to
improve, he developed the most god-awful low back pain as a result of his ludicrous gait earlier in the week. To cap
it all he tried to pass a speaker cabinet to Misery at soundcheck, emitted an unearthly wail and went down flat on
the floor of the venue. Those familiar with the floor of the venue will realise that he was not kidding.
The occasion was the Great Yvette Bailey's birthday party, ensuring a well respectable turn-out and a nice
atmosphere as DJ Neil span a fantastic succession of classic reggae 45s.
Wilson took the stage just after ten. With lighting genius Johnny P unable to make this show, the stage was shrouded
in darkness as the infamous "Sheep Tape" began to roll, leading eventually into a version of God's Green Earth that
immediately suggested that this might turn into a bit of a night. And that is what came to pass. Although barely
able to move, the plucky guitar scientist was seriously "on", and he was not alone. With the lights never really
rising above an eerie glow, this was a dark and ferocious set. MC Bot fronted accordingly, with apparently random
cries of "Shit!" and "Fuck!" between the tunes. (Occasionally Mister E. Wilson could be heard translating: "Botty
says Thank You.") Stevie G delivered great squalls of guitar noise across Police Chief and Buffalo Sniper. Misery
was magisterial throughout, even when tunes turned up in the set completely without warning. Agent Wilson
So a bit of a triumph in the face thereof, then. Everyone well pleased and off up the Bradlaugh, thence to the
Here's hoping we can do something as evil and sparkly when we have the Wilson festive knees-up on Christmas Eve.