My former employee Emma now sings with a band (or group), but her music will be far removed from the stately renditions of jazz favourites performed by the members of the Portobello Jazz Band I went to hear performing in a West London pub last night. I went with the brother (elder, bless him) who wanted to give the banjo player (a friend of many years standing-at-bars-pint-in-hand) some moral support. The brother also had business to transact with the banjo player's charming and gracious wife.
The band were in good form - the clarinettist had remembered to bring his teeth - the lack of which had caused difficulties at their previous gig - and our friend the banjo player looked sublimely happy as he strummed along with the music. The audience was also in excellent fettle and can be described in three parts: first the pub regulars who were mainly seated at tables at the far end of the pub, but who were pleased with the complimentary entertainment and applauded each session warmly; second came the band groupies (like the elder brother and myself) who braved the part of the bar closest to the band; and third came the "drunks".
The most notable of the "drunks" was an elegantly-turned-out lady, possibly in her late thirties but still with a handsome cleavage, who had obviously been in the pub for several hours. She was drinking vodka shots and suddenly became absurdly interested in the three of us (the brother, myself and the banjoist's wife) begging introductions and giving each of us a good look-over. To our relief the brother and I did not pass muster, but the charming and gracious wife of the banjo player (to her alarm) was found to be just the sort of companion that Ms Vodka Shots required for the rest of the evening.
Now I'm pretty sensible, and so is the charming and gracious wife of the banjo player. Within minutes we had each disappeared to our respective homes and beds. We left, needless to say, the elder brother to deal with Ms Vodka Shots. I shall endeavour to pen the sequel to this piece in due course.
