It’s Saturday 24th May 2025. Dad and I have just wrapped up the latest phase of a stupid job in Bayham Street, Camden. We could have finished the job last night but the powers that be all wanted to go home and come in again on the weekend instead. It’s their prerogative, I guess. I have been flicking through my emails when I get a message saying that tonight Wet Leg were playing at the Brixton Academy in well, err… Brixton. I had only seen them once before, and that was at Glastonbury, at the park stage, with Jonny. We had arrived there later than we hoped and were stuck at the back of the field without even a view of the stage. Now, they were back, they had a new album out and I had the opportunity to see them, for a very reasonable price. £40!
When we got home I looked at my phone and my bank balance. I was already going out the following day to see the Sisters of Mercy. The week before my bank balance had taken a major hit from my annual pilgrimage to The Great Escape in Brighton. Should I go? Or should I save my funds for another day? Screw it, you only live once. I booked a ticket for Wet Leg and pretty much had to go straight away.
As I walked to the station, I got my phone out and I booked the cheapest hostel in London. I just need somewhere to rest my head for this one anyway. £32 for two nights near to Marylebone. I thought that to be a very reasonable price. I got to the station and bought my ticket into town. There were posters covering the screens telling everyone to drive to another station to avoid having to take the dreaded replacement bus service. Dun Dun Daaaah!
The bus came very quickly indeed. I thought I’d have 10 minutes to pop around the corner and get some snacks for the journey. I did not. I got on the bus for what turned out to be nearly an hour and a half with only some past-their-sell-by-date chocolate cornflake cakes, which happened to still be in my bag. Headphones on – I listened to a podcast while the world sailed by. The coaches onboard radio blead through and I could hear Kylie and Abba and the like in the background as people got on and off at Luton.
It was at this point I realised that a man can not like on cornflakes and chocolate alone, and that I was going to have to get something to eat. Quite frankly the chocolate had set me off and I was hungry now, despite it only being 1530. So I had a look at the train times, to find when the next train was going to leave, that connected with the bus I was on. It left at 1550, and by my guess the bus was going to arrive in the next 15 minuets. That meant I had 5 minutes to find a meal. So I pre-ordered a pizza at Dominoes, a meat feast as you’re asking, and crossed my fingers, hoping that the traffic gods would be on my side. The bus arrived just as I had guessed. I power walked to the dominoes, which is just by the station. A pizza was waiting for me, which I grabbed and ran, and got on the train with moments to spare. I was slightly out of breath and had to give myself a moment before tucking in. The train was pretty much full, but I did find a seat. The pizza box, however, was soon empty.
Arriving in London, it was just a quick dash up the H&C to Edgeware Road. I checked in, climbed the three floors to my room and shoved my bag under the bed. The beds themselves were clean enough but the hostel on the whole was a little rough around the edges, but what do you expect for £15 a night in central London. It was hardly going to be the Ritz, was it?
Not wanting to particularly linger in the hostel, I looked at the time, I felt I had enough spare time to get a quick pint, and gain a cheeky cask marque. The Allsop Arms, on Gloucester Road was on route, so I decided to stop in there for a quiet pint, a quick breather after all the rushing around London and pizza speed runs.
It was not quiet.
My idea of a perfect pub has always been the country inn with the roaring fire, and polite quiet murmurings in the background. I think of this whenever I think of a pub I do not know. This is not always the reality. Other people think of the pub as a space to watch sports, and this is what I had stumbled into. It was the Sunderland vs Sheffield Playoff match and this was a Sunderland pub, and they had just won. The TV was showing the matches highlights. The crowd were responding to it as if they did not already know what was going to happen. I ordered a pint of Greene King IPA, scanned the cask marque and went outside with the smokers, where the London traffic, police sirens, shouting and fighting and general hubbub of the city was so much more peaceful than the absolute cacophony inside.
A group of supporters left the pub, one of whom had a county Durham flag over his shoulders. I stopped him and explained that I’d like a photo. He obliged, and asked me if I had anything. “Doesn’t matter what it is, I’ll drink it or smoke it” he explained. I had nothing to offer, so he moved on in a jovial mood. Sunderland had still won, after all.
Pint sank. This pub was not for me so I moved on. I got the tube down to Brixton. Where I had a quick pint of Doom Bar in Wetherspoons. This pub too, was busy. I shared a table with another man, he too was on his own and was drinking Guinness. He didn’t say a word the entire time we were sat together. There had been some confusion over whether there was one or two supports tonight, so I decided to get to the academy, just in case. If there were two, the first one would be on almost as soon as doors open.
I walked straight in, no fuss. A quick pat down, which is now standard at the academy. I bought my quart of Brooklyn IPA and sat on the shorter bit of wall, stage right. I sat there for maybe five minutes before I was approached by a lady, I’d later understand was called Lisa. She was about 5′ 5”, I’m guessing early to mid forties and had an accent that was hard to place, but gun to my head, I’d guess Brazil. It turned out that it was her first ever gig, which she too had decided to go to on the off chance, after hearing about it on Radio X. We talked about live music for a bit, and to what she could expect in the next few hours. If by any chance, Lisa, you are reading this, I hope you had a great evening, and also, thanks for the beer, you really didn’t have to.
Katy J Pearson played her support. Her laid back style and technical ability made me think that she had found about her level. A great warm up act for a big venue, but wouldn’t fill it herself. That’s not meant to sound disparaging. She just didn’t pack a punch which she’d need to do with her next release to make it further.
Wet Leg came on soon after. Opening with Catch these fists , a song that I didn’t know, this sort of set the tone. I felt quite quickly that I was getting the measure of this set. The new album was full of songs I didn’t know and which just didn’t grab in the way the first album did. I really should have done my homework before going. This was on me. I wasn’t enjoy it as much as I should because I didn’t know what I was watching. Some bands work when they are a surprise, others need you to sing along, Wet Leg are definitely the latter.
The set finishes soon after an out of breath girl and her friend came up to me and asked if they had played Chaise Lounge yet. Clearly, they had just arrived. I said no, then they played it, and then the show was over. There was no encore. I went back to Wetherspoons where I chatted to chap who was into rally biking, before retiring to the hostel. There was no one in the common room to make friends with, so I went to bed.