Chimes at Midnight...

..."Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?"

Falstaff had his midnight chimes and Sir Toby Belch his 'cakes and ale.' John Martyn - continuing the previous post - has had both I should imagine.

So were we at a rock concert or a dinner party? An odd question you might have thought, as the matter is self-evident. Not so, though, it would seem to one of the audience - a smart powder-blue jumper, neat grey hair, clipped accent and clipped wife - who was profoundly garrulous when someone had the effrontery to light a cigarette (such a wanton criminal act) then loudly remonstrating with the culprit - "I say, don't you know smoking is forbidden here?"

Poor guy was stunned to be hectored thus, not least considering half the crowd had lit a spliff or three to enhance the mood. "Wow man, sorry. Wow." was all he could muster in reply.

Later Ol' Powder-Blue was even more vehement with a young fellow whooping and hollering his enjoyment of the music - "I'm really not able to enjoy this with you shouting so much you know." Tempting was it to turn to him with ready cash and reply "Look, here's twenty quid. Go buy the CD and piss off home."

Bro. Charles (a late stand-in for H, who preferred to remain home keeping an eye on the election count - now that is deeply, deeply sad) had revenge for us all a while later. Ol' Powder-Blue having quelled and silenced the crowd around him to his entire satisfaction then began chatting to his wife just as your man was in the middle of 'Go Down Easy.'

Not missing the moment, Bro. Charles turned to him and bellowed in his ear for all to hear "Do you mind not talking whilst he's playing." That shut him - Ol' Powder-Blue not John Martyn of course - up for the night and we all rocked on in peace and harmony.

Now that is my kind of management consultant - crisp and dry, and giving the punter just what they want.