Some of us were going somewhere. The other three chaps had motorbikes. I didn’t. We set off, and soon they were gone over the horizon. Clearly, on foot, I had no means to match them. So I turned back on the dusty road, the few paces back home.
Interpretation: Time to get on your bike.
Walking past Biddle Bros on Lower Clapton Road, I notice a poster for their Myspace or yours acoustic nights. I take down Neville’s phone number and call him (apologetically) at just gone 11pm.
I have my first ever gig in my post-Goodbye Yellow Brick Road? incarnation for next Tuesday at some time after 9pm.
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