STRANGER ON THE SHORE

My old Mum used to have a saying: "One day I'll have a really good go".

I think what she really meant was: "One day I may get round to it, although I have too many other far more important things to do before I get to this."

We used to give her videos for Xmas and birthdays and she would place them very carefully by her chair. This meant that the pile grew higher and higher over the years. It became a standing joke in our family that eventually the pile would touch the lounge ceiling.

My brother in law has shelves of DVD's of stuff that he wants to watch but is too busy doing more important and interesting things so he now just says: "I know they are there if I need them". We continue to give him yet more so eventually should he need to he can have "a really good go".

I have found that the Dark Lady and myself are getting like that. It is a fine relaxing way of passing the time to sit down with a glass of something and a snack and watch a good fillum.

Trouble is the amount of "fillum" is now outstripping the time available to "have a really good go".

We have managed to work our way through half of certain films such as:

"What's up Tiger Lily?", "The Ladykillers" and "Harold and Maud".

So it was with some trepidation that the other night we sat down to watch "Its a Mad Mad Mad Mad World".

The joy of catching up on old films is the bits you had forgotten from when you watched them as kids. (I don't remember Spencer Tracy being in it!).

Also they are fairly cheap to buy.

Earlier I had caught half an hour of "Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines" which was being shown on the TV and had wallowed in nostalgia and half -remembered bits.

(I don't remember Willie Rushton being in it!).

There is also a slight non-PC frisson in old films such as this. Which somehow adds to the fun.

In it the French are sly and lecherous. The Germans are crisply efficient (I had forgotten the pilot was called "Rumplestrosse" - deep joy!). The Italians were stupid with huge families and the British were pompous buffoons.

Things have changed and we tend not to think that these days, do we? Unless you are a tabloid headline writer or a football commentator, probably not. Although for the purposes of pub or workplace jokes old habits die hard.

Another shock in this nostalgia fest was that half way through the film there was an intermission and we had forgotten to buy any ice cream. Films seem to be better value for money back then...well they were certainly longer.

I remember once going to a cinema in London to see a Top Gun spoof that was so short they had to bung on a Mr Bean short first. Not a big Bean fan so nearly left the cinema before the main feature started as Rowan Atkinson mugged his way through an exam with a lot of searching for pencils and dropping things.

We watched the film over two nights and then moved on to a couple of Woody Allen's.

I used to be up to date with his work but now I am about ten years behind.

The next day we went off to Bexhill which is gradually trying and perhaps succeeding in shaking off the "God's waiting room" tag that it has laboured under for years, like many south coast seaside towns.

When I moved to Hastings in 1989 the estate agents would helpfully tell would be purchasers that a property was: "Within a level walk of the shops".

The De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill is a magnificent art deco construction on the sea front and venue for innumerable editions of "Friday Night is Music Night". It has been refurbished in recent years and although it is rather stark, it is light and airy.

For the time being the roof terrace has been given over to an exhibition of "Bodies" by Anthony Gormley, the sculptor who is responsible for the "Angel of the North". The weird and sometimes wonderful fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square in London, which whenever I passed it usually had someone sitting in a picnic chair with an umberella up looking rather bored, now that is over, these days the plinth sports a rather fetching ship in a bottle.

He also did the "Iron Man" up near the Town Hall in Birmingham which I rather liked for a couple of reasons probably not connected with the art itself.

1) It really annoyed people who thought art should look like photographs and sculpture should be all men on horseback or women in flowing gowns staring into the middle distance.

2) It reminded me of "Gort" the robot in "The Day the Earth stood still".

Still back up on the roof..

Apparently the pieces are all of Anthony Gormley and they are bent into uncomfortable looking shapes and placed seemingly at random in a health and safety nightmare.

To be frank I don't understand art and have often thought that if you have to tell people what it is and why maybe it is not so good after all.

Then again it may be that art is designed to provoke a reaction.

Who can forget the Tate bricks?

We remember the reaction to it though:

"I'm paying for this????"

The DL said it looked to her like something terrible had happened as all the bodies appeared to be in pain.

I said it reminded me of the excavated remains of Pompeii.

To complete the anguish we met up with my old mate Clive in the pub later and chatted about old films & municipal art until the karaoke started.

I tweeted about it. Along with art that is something that I have never understood.

Singing badly along to a backing track.

We fled.

Having just written those words I am colouring slightly when I think of the times I have sung badly to a backing track.

In my defence this was for Children in Need. Well it was for charity, surely that is different. Or am I just digging a deeper hole here?

In the words of Neil Innes introduction to "Protest Song" : "I've suffered for my music and now it's your turn".

BOOGIE CHILLUN'

Relationship milestone. The Dark Lady was bringing her children to stay for the weekend.

It was also her birthday so had to make sure that our first anniversary-type event was a success and as stress free as possible.

I had - in a true "cloak over the puddle" romantic stylee - given her a food mixer for her main present, as she has just had a new kitchen fitted and is a brilliant cook so really wanted one.

Her friends were disappointed that I had not showered her with jewels.

If they had checked out the previous blogs they would have been satisfied that she didn't get a wheelbarrow, like my friends did when they married at the tail-end of last year!

What is it with women and jewellery, anyway? Why does a sparkling rock mean more in some quarters than a Magimix?

I did get some other more romantic type stuff as well, including a painting which I bought at the St Michaels Hospice arts fair. This is an event where local artists exhibit and sell their work and the Hospice gets a fair percentage of the sales. I have been involved with them for years now and always end up buying a picture or two. I am running out of wall space so friends and family are starting to expect pictures.

The "other romantic stuff", by the way guys, did not include service station flowers and some items from the Ann Summers catalogue. I like to think I am better than that. Although you may argue, a foodmixer is not going to cut it in the romance stakes.

Not aware how many items of white goods and general kitchen equipment actually do.

"Oh Rhett...Rhett. Will we ever get back to Tara?"

"Frankly madam, without a Kenwood Chef...I don't give a damn!"


Friday night we went to see a tribute band the "Kings OV Leon".

Ella (14) and Jamie (11) are huge fans of the real thing so it was going to be interesting to witness their views.

Tribute bands seem to come in two forms: The ones who look like the band. And the ones that sound like them.

It is considerably easier to be a Queen tribute act, for instance, if you have a camp lead-singer with a white jacket, half a microphone stand and a big moustache.

I heard of one tribute act who was Alice Cooper AND Meatloaf. Just hope that he wasn't eaten by his snake halfway through "Dead Ringer for Love".

Saw a poster for a tribute act the other night who was Lady Gaga and Amy Winehouse.

A witty combination, no doubt climaxing with her falling drunkenly out of what little clothing she is wearing.

They were late on stage but before they had even played a note, drunken women were dancing down the front.

The Kings ov Leon had a northern lead-singer, which was a little disconcerting when he did the stage announcements. I bit like hearing a Yorkshire Willie Nelson.

"T'next tune's "'ello Walls...'appen".

They did sound pretty much like the originals, though, and got a qualified thumbs-up from Ella and Jamie, with Ella pronouncing that one of the guitarists (not sure which one he was meant to be) was "hot".

Saturday and it was off in the sunshine to enjoy the fleshpots of Hastings. It is a terrific town for children as it has miles of seafront and a funfair as well as cliff lifts.

So it was to the fair and the Go Karts. I had forgotten how competitive children can be as the two of them tore round the track until there was a shunt, complete with equal and opposite recrimination.


Then it was to some huge ride that makes most people’s hearts sink.
It was called the Equinox.

The effect I imagined would be like someone trying to tear your limbs off in a spin dryer. Whilst simultaneously attempting to twist your head off.

Ella's eyes lit up. She loves these rides and I think probably wants to be a base jumper or a test pilot when she is older. However, she didn't want to go on it alone.

Jamie declared "I'll go on it later".

(I know your game, buster. You were wisely horrified at the thought of being spun through the air until your brains seeped out your ears. You are no mug!)

The DL refused point blank.

Three sets of eyes swivelled in my direction with an audible squeak.

So it was that we clambered into the seats and the safety cage/harness was lowered over our shoulders to lock us in position so we couldn't fly out. Further embarrassment came when the operator had to force my safety harness shut as my stomach appeared to be in the way. Too much centrifugal force and they would be hosing down Hastings Old Town for weeks after.

Off we went and it was truly, truly horrible. Up, down, sideways, backwards.

I wisely kept my eyes firmly shut the whole time.

After an age it slowed seemingly to a halt. "Thank God for that".

Then bugger me. It started off again.

If you ever want a value for money ride try The Equinox It lasts for hours and hours. Or that may just be my take on it.

Feeling slightly queasy, and with Ella beaming broadly, it was time to find some other hideous torture.

Dodgems. These I can cope with. I was cool, I was in control.

Bit disappointed that the blokes running the ride appeared to be about 15 rather than the tattooed gum-chewing stereotypes with the quiff and the permanent fag drooping from their lip. That is all part of the Amusement park experience.

I deftly weaved in and out of the other traffic. Mainly, but not always, avoiding being smashed to a bloody pulp by an eleven year-old boy with an evil grin who kept appearing out of nowhere.


"Beat you" said Jamie, when the ride was over.

I may have 43 years on the little chap but some things offend my middle-aged dignity.

"DIDN'T DIDN'T DIDN'T YOU SO DIDN'T....SO THERE....DIDN'T!"

There! I think that told him!

Up the East Hill funicular railway for a lay down on the grass and an ice cream.

After that it was back to the house, stopping off for a paddle in the sea which was surprisingly warm and we reckoned it was far warmer than our dip in the sea at Asbury Park at the tail end of "American Adventure 3" in May.

This proved, like the ride, to be another mistake.

This year I have been suffering from terrible Hay Fever and the grass pollen finished me off.

For the rest of the evening we sat, watched TV, and I sneezed.

Dressed some crab that we bought from one of the many fishmongers in the Old Town.

…and sneezed.

Watched Police Academy 2…and sneezed.

Had some chocolate...and sneezed.

Watched Nacho: Libre on DVD...and sneezed.

Ella hid in the spare room downloading the bulk of my CD collection on to her iPod.

I sneezed.

Jamie talked about Tanks and Militaria and I sneezed.

Had a glass of wine and sneezed.

The DL gave me most of her tissues. The ones that Mothers keep in their bags for wiping children with....and I sneezed.

Then I had a brilliant idea:

"In my estimation, this sneezing is actually due to a deep-rooted allergy to fairground rides. So sorry I can't go on any more again as they make me ill"

BY THE TIME WE GOT TO WOODSTOCK

We were only a few miles from the festival.

The DL and I had been invited to Cornbury in Oxforshire. Remembering my last few festival experiences with camping in the pouring rain at Reading in the Seventies, staying in an hotel in Guildford for "Guilfest" a few times, and a day spent compeering a festival in Nantwich (during which Elkie Brook's son came to blows with the promoter) I was understandably chary.

So rather than rough it we opted to hire a "PodPad".

This struck us as a good compromise.

Carpet, flooring, electricity, quiet location with its own showers and toilets. Ideal for a middle-aged man with no sense of adventure and a love of creature comforts, despite having an altogether more adventurous other half.

It was a Wendy House!

Still, it had an airbed and a useful shelf. Good place to put a lantern and the cough mixture.

Trouble was, every time the DL turned over she caught the shelf with her bum. She is not exactly over-endowed in the derriere department. However, it is enough to give a girl a complex.

We had arrived on the friday although there was not due to be an official start to the music until the following lunchtime.

We settled in and met our neighbours. A couple of women who seemed very nice but a little unsure about my hacking graveyard cough.

This had been with me for the better part of a week and had shown little sign of improving.

"Alcohol should fix it" opined one of the women.

Being someone who has always been aware of other peoples’ space and with a desire not to upset anyone, I was concerned that I would disturb our neighbours.

There may have been slightly more sound insulation than that of a tent. However, you could still hear every sound. I was certain that I could hear peoples’ hair growing at one point.

The following morning we upped and washed and headed off the half mile or so to the arena to catch the opening acts.

Tiffany Page was a rather nervous and self-conscious opener and, by the time she had got to the second line of the first song, she was so out of tune it brought an audible gasp from the DL.

She soon got into the swing of things but, to this old ham, I do think that artists should think not only of the music but also their interaction with the crowd.

If I had a £1 for every time anyone uttered the word "awesome" during the weekend I would have had enough to pay the cost of the PodPad. That includes the use of the word myself in a "tweet" about the festival later that day.

This festival isn't dubbed "PoshStock" for nothing. There was a Starbucks, a Jamie Oliver food stand as well as a Waitrose and plenty of Organic and Holistic type food and the obligatory Veggie stuff. All with the added festival price hike.

Things really took off when Buddy Guy took to the stage mid-afternoon. (excuse the poor quality pic, if you will)


Not seen him since I was a young man at a concert with the late Junior Wells in London in the 70's.

This was not a happy evening as I recall; I think they were both off their faces on something or other and spent much of their time howling with laughter and not playing very much.

He may be 73 years of age but from the first note he had us. He is a showman as well as a fantastic musician. He also boasted the largest drummer I have ever seen. He was huge and looked like he was playing a child’s drumset.

Cornbury may be described as a "family-friendly, chic-boutique festival" but it was still fun.

It ran like clockwork as well, with one act on the second stage ready to go as the one on the main stage finished. This meant a certain amount of traipsing about but it was worth it. Highlights of the first day for us were Buddy Guy, Dr John and Squeeze.

We sat outside one of the bars and had a drink as the sun went down and headliner David Gray came on.

I saw him a few years ago when he did a special show for Radio 2 at the hallowed Abbey Road studios in London. New album about to be released and he was amazingly...dull. What has happened to him?

He is very popular and I am sure his new record will sell by the lorry load. DL looked at me and I looked at her and we headed off back to our Pod in the gathering dusk. We were not alone as we trailed through the wooded park. Hundreds of other festival goers had a similar idea. It was like a tide of refugees carrying blankets and camping chairs look for safety.

Back at camp it was to bed for a fitful nights sleep. Me, wheezing and coughing and the DL bumping the featured shelf as she turned over trying to get away from the noise. Of my hacking.

In the distance we heard a resounding cheer as David Gray concluded his set. Sounded to us like a roar or relief that it was over.

In the morning the water didn't work in the toilets and the loos themselves reminded me of Reading in 1975. They would flush but that just stirred the deeply unpleasant blue soup that was already in there.

Jon Allen was the opener on the Sunday and we both really wanted to see him. As we joined the throng heading for the arena, a marshall stopped us.

"Where are your white wristbands?"

"This blue one and the red one was the one were given when we arrived"

"No white wristband, sorry no entry"

"Where do we get one?"

We had to trudge all the way back to the entrance to join a lengthy queue of people buying day tickets, or people like ourselves who had not been given the correct passes.

We just made it as Jon was taking the stage.


He started with a couple of acoustic number and then brought his band on. He just gets better this boy.

We were aware of a change in atmosphere since the day before though. There seemed to be more security. We noticed some "Tim-Nice-but-dim" characters lurking up by the coffee franchise. One was actually heard to say, "The fillies at Glasto this year were far superior to here". The DL nudged me.

He was wearing deck shoes! I blame the jugs of Pimms that were on sale.

We knew we weren't going to be able to stay too long on the Sunday so we were going to miss Jackson Browne, the headliner, as well as the Feeling as I needed to get back for the show.

We caught the Lucinda Belle Orchestra and witnessed the first two numbers by the Blockheads. The material is classic and ageless but Ian Dury is irreplaceable.

The lead singer was laying the Cockney thing on with a trowel and it didn't work for us it seemed forced, rendering them a tribute act. We headed off. As we strolled through the park, we noticed the dreaded Morris Men jingling in the opposite direction.

Phew! We were free and not a moment too soon!

Heading back to London we reflected on the weekend.

We had seen and heard some great music in beautiful surroundings. We had been blessed with glorious weather. The line-up had been patchy but it was not time wasted.

Jon Allen tweeted that David Cameron had put in an appearance on the Sunday, which may explain the extra security.

With that news, any last vestige of teen festival-goers rebellion immediately was extinguished like a bucket of water had been poured over it.

Although we are not sure where they would have got the water from.

RUN AND GET THE FIRE BRIGADE

Dark Lady and I went off to the Midlands over the weekend to see some friends who run a flying school; there was a special event on at Halfpenny Green airfield near Wolverhampton to commemorate 100 years of aviation in the area.


The sun shone and planes of all shapes and sizes buzzed around the skies. It..(koff)...was a good day to be al...al....(choke) alive!

We were there for most of the weekend and, for most of that time, a man was mowing the grass. As you would imagine on an airfield there is a lot of the stuff and it has to be kept down.

Over the years I have become rather more sensitised to grass pollen. This is divine retribution for my schooldays when I would scoff at my red-eyed, wheezing friends and tell them to get a grip. They are laughing on the other side of their purple faces now, I can tell you.

Sunday and we headed off down to London. The DL was keen to know how England were getting on. We stopped at Oxford services on the M40 and, as we walked into the main building and saw the slumped and dejected public sat staring at strategic screens, we knew it was not going well.

"One- love. Er Love" I said, with my usual grasp of footballing regulations and scoring. I'm sure they'll pull that back. I remember back in '66 when...." I was shot a look which said it was wise to stop now when I too was only "one - love".

By the time we got home it was 4-1. Maybe I am becoming a fan after all but by now, I was feeling distinctly wiped out and crawled into bed feeling rather "worn". Perhaps it was the disappointment of our dismal showing that made it feel like that.

In the morning the voice had gone croaky and the coughing had started.

Damn that pollen.

Sea air was what was needed so I headed on down to Hastings after the show to let the ozone blow away the cobwebs.


With the weather so nice obviously it was time for a stroll along the front. First, I had important work to do: CD filing. After putting half-a-dozen on the shelf I felt too knackered to do any more and my favourite displacement activity rose to meet me.

"TEEVEE"!

I had two episodes of Chuck, a BBC 4 documentary called Rude Britannia, as well as Frost on Satire to watch. It contained an interview with one of America's last-surviving liberal voices, Bill Maher, who delights (along with Jon Stewart) in pricking the pomposity and exposing the lies of the establishment.

We need more of that sort of thing here, in my opinion. It was amazing to watch archive footage of the That Was the Week That Was and to look at the topics they covered.

Can't think of anyone who is doing that these days apart from Bremner, Bird and Fortune and - correct me if I'm wrong - they don't seem to have been on for awhile.

By now the hacking cough had been joined by a cold and comedy sneezing.

I was not alone either. The DL started to go down with it and, listening to Chris Evans, Moira Stuart was also croaking her way through the news. Still, I was first, I thought. This was borne out by Aled Jones thanking me for giving him my germs.

I comforted myself with the thought that, top man as he is and talented too, if it resulted in just one fewer rendition of "Walking in the Air" my work here on Earth was done!


Wednesday and I hauled my aching cough and cold ridden body along to see a showcase by The Unconventionals, a 6-piece close-harmony group. I have featured them on Lester's Library in the past and their first album is about to be released. I am in awe of music and musicians. It is often said that DJ's are failed musicians and, in my case, this is certainly true.

They were terrific, if slightly kitsch in their delivery. They went down a storm with the battle-scarred cynical audience of media types.

It had us bemoaning the lack of TV variety shows. There are few outlets for acts of this type any longer. Back in the day they would have been a staple of Seaside Special and Pebble Mill at One. They are due to make an appearance on GMTV soon. By then the Lester germs will doubtless have reduced their fine vocals to a thin croak.


A listener noted that on Twitter the other day that I didn't live "The high life" as I mentioned a terrible laundry failure at the flat I rent. I am extremely fortunate in having a job I love. However, not for me are Limo's and Personal Assistants or even an "entourage". I am a bloke so I don't need any of this stuff, I even do my own washing. (My Mum died 7 years ago so, alas, she is no longer around to pick up after her "little soldier".)

So duly loading the weeks smalls and not quite so smalls into the machine it was with some consternation that upon my return at the end of the cycle. The machine was still full of water and had halted mid-cycle. No amount of wrestling with the controls made any difference. Gathering my bath robe and all the towels, I had opened the door and tried to mop the suds.

Another cycle and the same thing happened. By this time, I was wringing stuff out in the bath in an attempt to find any textile that would absorb liquids.

One last go…and the machine worked a treat and has performed without complaint ever since.

Perhaps I have a new power brought on by the coughing, the sneezing, the germs and the pollen.

"Alex Lester...White Goods Whisperer!"

Excuse me if you think this is far-fetched. Peter Parker got his Spiderman powers after being bitten by a radioactive arachnid.

Thursday, and after another wheezing and coughing morning "pulling the triggers on the 45's" and another (failed) attempt to boost my profile - this time by turning myself into a "shock jock" - it was back to the flat.

Where I live is not at the high-end of London rented accommodation. It is a nice flat in a block of similar one-bedroom abodes. However, I think that in order to make as much as they can, landlords cram a lot of people into the apartments.

There were a dozen or so people milling around in the street when I arrived, an ambulance and four fire appliances also.

One of the flats had caught fire whilst I had been at the studio and its occupants and those of the flats either side had taken refuge outside.

So it was to bed in a flat that smelled of bonfire. Although, for some reason, it didn't make my cough any worse!

SHUT UP 'n' PLAY YER GUITAR

The week has been taken up with football. We have tried to put our own twist on it with our support for the underdogs i.e. those of us who are not wedded to the beautiful game.

Having said that, it was heartening to note people had their own teams that they supported: darts teams, burlesque troupes, people jousting using fork lift trucks and the like. These are the sort of sports that I would pay good money to see.

On Wednesday, the Dark Lady mooted the possibility of us going to watch the England match at the offices of some friends of hers. She knows my aversion to football, even though she is a big fan. Being far cleverer than I, and also knowing blokes, she just threw into the conversation that there would be beer and fish and chips. We were there before you could say "Vuvuzela". When we arrived someone was already blowing theirs. Not been up close to one before and they sound a little like a badly-tuned goat.

Still, everything had been prepared. There were tables groaning with chilled bottles and fish and chips in abundance. There was also a cold collation including Scotch eggs, a particular favourite of mine.

The floor had been covered in fake grass with the appropriate football markings so we watched the game "on the pitch". It was very impressive. Big screens and hooting. It is fairly easy to blend in with proper fans if you bellow the name of the player with the ball; this is easy to do as their names are helpfully written on their shirt backs. Also, if the ball goes anywhere near the opponents’ goal, you shout louder. When a ball is hoofed, however ineffectually (see Rooney below), towards the opponents’ goal you must leap to your feet shouting "YESSS!" Then when (as normal) it fails to go in, cover you heard with your hands slump back in your seat with a loud groan.

If the opposing team is threatening to do the same shout "NOOOO!" then when it fails to be a goal, wave your arms in the air exultantly and cheer. This was going to be the tone for the afternoon.

I discovered early on that it is easily possible to bluff your way in Association Football. All you do is press your mental button marked "TV Commentator football cliche" and it pours out:

"England haven't got the finishing power"

"Scrappy play from England"

"Rooney doesn't seem to have the pace"

"Slovenia are getting desperate"

This seemed to go down well until the DL piped up:

"You are taking the mickey, aren't you?"

Well what was I to say? I was undone.

"Er, the lads head dropped a bit in the second half" I croaked trying to keep up the pretence

Stop it!

"But it’s a game of two halves, Brian"

"NOW!"

"He's getting a yellow card"

SHUT IT!

In truth I enjoyed it mainly for the company and the food.

We had a few hours to kill so we spent some of it trying to sort out my new phone.

At last the replacement handset had arrived of a different type to the one that had been so unreliable and had in turn replaced the nightmare that was the one before that.

Mobiles don't seem to come with instructions these days so it is just a question of guessing. Gradually getting the hang of it, although it is slow work and the touchscreen keypad has a habit of choosing the letter next door: "dp yjsy ,slrd oy b smmpuomg"

TRANS: "So that makes it very annoying"

Plus there is a little ball on the front that glows on and off when a text message has been received. This gives it the appearance of a 1950's Sci-Fi movie.

You know, the one where the asteroid glows in the shallow crater before the alien slime pours out engulfing the necking teenage couple in their convertible Thunderbird out by the bluff. Who only notice something is wrong too late when the radio starts to crackle.

Then it was off to see a particular favourite of ours, Country artist Brad Paisley. I first came across him on American Adventure 1 in 2007 and have been a huge fan ever since.

He's not particularly well known in the UK, a state of affairs I am trying to help rectify by playing him as part of "Lester’s Library" on the show.


It was gratifying to see he had sold out two nights on his first visit here in ten years

He co-writes some brilliantly clever songs which he performed such as "Online", "Ticks" and the title track of his new album, American Saturday Night. He is also a real guitar-slinger and a great showman with a terrific rapport. He was clearly loving it as he walked among the audience during extended solos.

He is an electric performer and the capacity crowd knew most of the songs and so there was a huge sing along and a terrific atmosphere.

With visiting US artists you are always going to detect a varying degree of "it’s really good to be over here in England.....Britain is my second home" sort of stage announcement.

What was funny and perhaps slightly revealing that taped to the stage by his mic stand were two pieces of paper. One obviously the set list. The other had one word written on it. It proclaimed in bold lettering "LONDON"

Probably most touring musicians nightmare to walk out onto the stage in say Boise Idaho and punch the air with your fist and yell…

"Good evening Tehran!"

No mistake here thankfully. There was a little World Cup/London/Fishing in the River Thames type bonding banter, but luckily it was minimal. He indulged in a little "Top hole. pip pip" style chat when he first hit the stage but it didn't grate and was well meaning.

Never understood why Americans still think that we are all bastard sons and daughters of Terry Thomas.

Good to see as well that the audience was mixed with all ages being represented. Giving lie to the received wisdom that Country music fans are all in their 60's and are blue collar workers from Barnsley.

He was fabulous and even better news he intimated that he is coming over again next year for a proper tour. Miss him at your peril.

Lawks. Soon be the weekend Mr Hudson make no mistyke!

Sorry think its catching.

I GOT THE MUSIC IN ME

Been looking forward to this for ages. The Dark Lady had bought tickets for Willie Nelson as a birthday present. I had seen him a couple of years before and he was fabulous. How would the intervening 24 months have affected him? He is 77 years of age and so you do worry about deterioration in your idols. What if his voice was shot? What if he couldn’t play his guitar as well? What if he came over as an elderly shuffling shadow of his former glory??

We needn’t have worried. If anything his voice is in better shape than it was on the previous outing. It is an idiosyncratic sound that you either love or hate. We love him and his guitar playing was as good as ever. He still did the whole “Django Reinhardt instrumental" thing. Often with extended soloing in other songs. As I was a lot closer to the stage this time I was able to get a closer look at the great man. I knew his guitar (Celled “Trigger” apparently) was beat up but I never realised it had a hole worn through the soundboard due to years of thrashing.

He spoke little but played a lot. I lost count of the number songs he crammed into his 90 minute set.

Though he did do “Crazy”, “Funny How Time Slips Away”, “On the Road Again” and “City of New Orleans”; just a few of my favourites. I counted the other day that I have 22 Willie albums and am only scratching the surface. When he launched into a fabulous low key version of “Georgia”, there was an audible gasp of pleasure from the DL and I thought she was going to weep with joy.

It was all over by 9.30pm so we hopped in the car and drove home. It was going to be a week of great music.

Man cannot live by tunes alone. So on Saturday we popped in to the pub for a quick one and drank it outside as the weather was dry and warm. Stayed to watch the opening minutes of the England v USA world cup match. I am not a fan but the DL is and can explain the offside rule to me. I still haven’t grasped it as my mind wanders very easily.

My sister and brother-in-law were watching at their place on their HD TV. Apparently the England goal was missed due to a glitch. My normally mild-mannered Brother-in-Law was so furious that apparently he “threw his slipper to the floor with great force”. When we got home it was obvious that the Dark Lady would rather watch the football. So I left her shrieking at the box whilst I “pinnied up” and got on with the serious task of preparing the food (opening the packets for the cold collation and washing the salad.) I also spent some time putting up the fairy lights. I may not be much of a cook but I like to think I am OK with presentation.

Monday evening it was to the BBC for a special concert featuring Jack Johnson. I have played him on the radio dozens of time and like his work. He was excellent although I began to think about halfway through that it was all sounding a tad “similar”. Some acts have enough light and shade to sustain the interest not sure that Jack has judging by his set.

I have been wrestling with my mobile phone all week as it has had a catastrophic software meltdown which means it has lost nearly all the data, all the sound clips and all the photographs. A quick peek at the internet revealed that it was a common problem and many have been returned by disgruntled owners. So off I went to the shop ready for a battle.
“This phone is rubbish”

“Yes we know. Would you like a replacement?”

“I’m not having the same one like you tried last time, I want a replacement”

“No just go choose a phone and we will regard it as an upgrade”

“Wow uh uh? You are not going to try and fob me off?”

“Nope, choose a phone let the guy at customer services know and we will pop one in the post” Currently waiting for final instructions so hopefully by next week will have a new phone.

Thursday night it was time for some more music and off to the famed BBC Maida Vale studios for Steve Winwood.
Last time I was there was for Bonnie Raitt about five years ago. I had to stand. This time there were little tables complete with an electric candle to give it “atmosphere”. We shared a table with a big BBC cheese and singer Ruby Turner. It was a really intimate gig reckon fewer than 100 people were there and it was an instrumental and vocal feast. Steve looked and sounded in great shape. Working through extended versions of some of his finest moments such as “Higher Love", "Gimme Some Lovin'" and "I’m a Man”. He paused at one moment as a technical problem with his Hammond Organ was bothering him. We marvelled at the ability of one man to sing, play the keyboard with two hands, and also the bass parts with his feet. Who says blokes can’t multi-task?

“Its like having a 60’s car” he explained. It must be tricky relying on ancient equipment. Just as well he didn’t have a Mellotron. I gather they were hard work when they were new, let alone nearly 40 years down the line. During many songs we were treated to impromptu backing vocals by Ruby as she could scarcely contain her delight. As a white, middle-aged, middle class man, not known for being particularly “hip”, I would say it was a “funky” evening.

I will now drag myself away from the keyboard crimson faced with embarrassment after that remark, feeling like a Vicar with a guitar or a politician talking to Radio One’s Newsbeat about their favourite bands.

BACK IN THE HIGHLIFE AGAIN

Down to earth with a bump after American Adventure 3. I don’t think I have known four weeks go so fast.
Most of the first week back was spent doing all of those exciting things that you have to do after a holiday, such as laundry and sorting out unpaid bills. Also catching up with friends who ask, “Good holiday?” or “how was the trip?”, hoping against hope that you will not bring out the photographs.
On this occasion, as it was my first jaunt with the Dark Lady, people also asked: “Had your first argument yet?” I can report quite truthfully as of this date: not so far and long may that continue. We both had a terrific time. Relaxing and enjoying each other’s company.
One of the many bonuses of this job is the music. Four weeks away and there was a mass of CDs to return to. Record companies hoping for a play as part of “Lester’s Library”, or maybe hoping that a track could be taken along to the playlist meeting for possible inclusion by producer, Dr Strangelove.
Rather like sorting six issues of my local paper into date order before I start to read them, it was a question of getting the music into release date order; there is little point in playing something that won’t make the shops for two months, by which time we will have forgotten about it.



The next thing is to look through and decide which ones to listen to. A lot of the stuff we get is just not suitable for the shoe. Not a big fan of talent show winners, nor teen heart-throbs. Then there are the charity records. Taking aside the whole issue of the doubtless worthwhile cause, I always feel like I am being “mugged” for charity and there is a lot of emotional blackmail involved.
There are so many out there these days, I feel if you play one you have to play them all. And that would not leave a lot of room for anything else, would it?
How can you decide to play the “Cat Relief” CD over the “Pooch Idol” offering? Children in Need is the official BBC charity so they get a “bye” as far as this argument is concerned. To the person raising money for their charity though, their charity is the most important one in the world.
Then, at certain times of the year, other music makes its appearance felt - not always comfortably - but its presence is there. Christmas means a rash of terrible novelty songs as well as some good stuff which will get on. I still shudder at the memory of “What do you get a Wookie for Christmas when he already has a comb?”.
You may have noticed that we are in the grip of World Cup fever. So out come a whole slew of soccer-related novelties. We have our own views on organised sport and football in particular so we are covering the “beautiful game” in our own way which does not include home-made tributes recorded in bedrooms, or groups of “lads” belting out undying love and winning certainty with maybe a micro-celebrity or two to make the CD sleeve look slightly more convincing.


It has been a whole two months but you can’t keep a good Geek down. So it was to Liverpool on Friday for another of our famed “Nerd Nights”. Not been to the ‘pool since about 1994 and it’s a changed place. It was rather run down and grubby on my last visit. Since then it has been transformed. Must be something to do with its City of Culture status. Which brings us neatly too…..
Booked into a budget hotel opposite Albert Dock and we found ourselves in the midst of ”Leah’s Hen Weekend” She is obviously a game girl as I counted about 20 of her closest “WAG-tastic” mates had turned up to give her moral support. This seemed to mean dressing her up in L plates a bridal veil and a fat suit and parading her round the city. If this is what friends do I hate to think what her enemies had planned for her. Wonder where the Stag night was? Manchester? If I was a blushing bride and my intended told me that he and a few mates were going to take a weekend trip to say, Amsterdam or Prague, you know he has two things on his mind. 1)Beer and gallons of it. 2) Prostitutes.
Sew him into his fat suit girls before he gets on the plane and you will have no problems.

The usual suspects turned up for the ritual humiliation that is DJ’s talking about jingles, who just got fired from where, and trying to outdo each other on chart placings and record labels.
Thankfully on this occasion there were no outbreaks of impressions. When you get “voice conscious” broadcasters all in the same place, the noise and the men of a thousand character voices can be deafening and probably very upsetting to the lads circling the spray-tanned Hen Night girls like sharks circling a walrus. (I am trying to continue fat suit motif here, you understand).
Headed off to a very nice restaurant which has been created from one of the warehouses and we had a nice long table all to ourselves. We ordered, and this restaurant had a good way of making sure you were ready to eat. The food took 90 minutes to arrive. The reason apparently was that some of the party had opted to stuff themselves with starters so the kitchen was waiting until everyone was in sync before bringing out the macaroni cheese, in my case. Radio and TV presenter Charles Nove opted for a “Meat Pizza”. Why is it that whatever you order in a restaurant, the other person or person’s food looks better? The meat Pizza did exactly as it said on the tin. It could have equally accurately been described as “Abattoir”. Think I noticed a couple of hooves amid the pile of meat on the thin crust pastry. It wasn’t quite the 72oz steak that I saw advertised at the “Iron Skillet” on my last American Adventure, but it would have served as a tasty starter for that meal.
When the burping and lip-smacking ceased, a crowd of us (with food down our front) headed into town. We hit a variety of pubs in and around Stanley Street, one of the last bits of the city - along with the “Liver Birds” - that I recognised. The rest having been rebuilt, tarted up and pedestrianised.
Trouble with Nerds is that we want to talk. It is increasingly difficult n a city centre on a Friday or Saturday night as pubs are aimed at people who want to stand around and shout at each other above deafening music. I love music but am not sure that turning your favourite tune up to a level where blood issues from your ears makes it any more enjoyable. In fact I would wager quite the opposite.
10,000 Watts of the “Singing Nun” for instance is probably going to drive anyone mad.

We found ourselves in a bar with lots of musical instruments in glass cases; tt may have been one of the “Hard Rock” franchise. As the walls vibrated with the sound I remember thinking to myself; “what a waste of perfectly good guitars. They should be being played not stared at in some boozer.”
We eventually took a cab to the basement bar of the Everyman Theatre, which was altogether more civilised. It had everything a committed Nerd needs: beer and a big table to sit around and talk radio-related stuff.


It also sported a selection of people in cowboy hats who had blown in from the theatre upstairs.
Soon it was 1.00am and we headed back to the hotel for a couple more. We had been assured when booking that the bar was open for as long as was necessary. It was. Providing “you want soft drinks only” said a gleeful staff member.
It was at this point that I remember the expression “Don’t shoot the messenger” and thought that perhaps in this case we could make an exception.
We went round the corner to a different hotel where the rump of the group - about five of us - sat around and chatted until bedtime at about half-past three.
The aftermath of these events is always the same.
They are long, shouty and very enjoyable evenings. This means that rather than having a sore head, not much booze is consumed over a very long period of time. So everyone turns up red-eyed for breakfast with a sore throat. Everyone expresses undying love for each other and plans are made for the next one in two months.
This explains why I have sounded slightly “crackly” on the show this week. However, all is nearly back to normal.


Incidentally. Look out Swindon: The Nerds are coming