Doctor's Orders

I take my Physio's recommendations on board and don’t rest up. I mean, if everyone rested up when they felt not quite 100%, nobody would ever get off the sofa. Not that some people do anyway. So I cycle in to work and take care not to strain anything. I tried to take it steady but obviously this wasn’t an easy thing to do. Not being in my nature.

Doggo’s also under Doctor’s orders. We’ve been told to increase his fibre intake, so he’s getting Weetabix for breakfast, sprinkled on top of his normal food. MD seems gutted that he isn’t getting the same and left half of his breakfast, I assume as way of protest.

Peterborough United’s manager Darren Ferguson has left the club by 'mutual consent'. e.g. been sacked. This is another bizarre sacking in the insane world of football. It’s also a bit rich as the same Chairman, who has just sacked him, refused permission for Ferguson to talk to Reading in the summer. Instead he lauded him as ‘the best young manager in the country’ and gave him a new four-year contract. Ferguson had of course just led Peterborough to back-to-back promotions.



True they currently lie bottom of the Championship with just two league wins this season but for a team that has risen so high, so fast, this is hardly a surprise to most people, even it seems to their own fans. Sometimes you have to take a step backwards to go forwards and who better to have in charge to do this than ‘the best young manager in the country’. Clearly the Chairman has other ideas. Expect to see Peterborough relegated anyway and Ferguson to land a plum job elsewhere.

After work I head into town to meet up with L. We have an early show at the Bodega Social tonight.

Galchen are an unsigned instrumental band from Glasgow, who have been going, on and off, for about eight years. In which time they have only spawned the one record, an EP called 'The Red Dot'. Which as it contains 12 tracks and is 35 minutes long is surely an LP by anyone’s standards. They're also not big on titles, in a way not seen since Forward Russia used to number all their compositions. Perhaps this isn’t surprising considering they don’t have any lyrics.

Tonight though everything has been given a name but I only know because I nabbed the set list, because they’re not big on banter or introducing songs either. In fact they haven’t even been given a microphone to thank the crowd for the applause and have to shout instead.

They open with something called ‘Audio Orgasm’ which is excellent and perhaps appropriately named. What follows is an energetic set and five more tracks, during which their drummer nearly dies at the end of each one.

The band’s name is derived from the names of bass player Gal and guitarist Chenzo. This was apparently all decided before Peter, their energetic drummer, joined them. It’s a shame because he deserves recognition as he puts his all into everything tonight, despite having a symbol that has a sizeable chunk missing out of it. Looks like a rabbit has taken a nibble out of it.



They have some great tunes but for all their brilliance tonight, and call me old (old) fashioned if you like, but I like a vocalist. They need someone like Scott Hutchison to write some words for them. It’s not going to happen though; they are a dedicated instrumental band and committed to the cause. All the members are also in other bands as well, presumably with vocals, so perhaps they don’t feel the need. All the same, good luck to them.

Frightened Rabbit have the best lyrics on the planet. We could discuss this but it's almost certainly beyond debate. There's only one thing better than wallowing in the wordiness of a Frightened Rabbit CD and that's by having Scott Hutchison stood two feet in front of you singing them to you live. This is by sheer coincidence the approximate distance I am from him tonight at the cosy and sold out Bodega Social. So close I can watch his sweat fall into my beer. There’s always a downside isn’t there.

If you've never seen Frightened Rabbit live I strongly recommend that you do unless, of course, you've just split up with someone whom you were rather fond of. In which case avoid like the plague, you'll be sobbing into your pint within seconds before probably glassing yourself with it during the encore when they usually play ‘Keep Yourself Warm’, but more about that later.

Happy stuff then? Nope. So it’s a perfect night out for an old misery like me. Their album ‘The Midnight Organ Fight’ (great title, think about it for a minute) was probably the best album I never heard in 2008 because it was early 2009 before it got on my radar. It’s a record almost exclusively devoted to the bitter breakdown of a relationship. Which is not a new idea for sure but it is written with such feeling and rawness that it cuts deep, twists the knife, and then pours salt in the open wound. It’s pretty affecting stuff.

When we last saw them they were unplugged, totally acoustic, and, with apologies to the rest of the band, they were all about Scott Hutchison, whose singing reached even more powerful and yes, sadder levels in that format. Tonight, plugged in, and with a new member Gordon, they’re a different animal yet again. They quite simply rock. At one stage they had four guitars going at the same time, tonight they’re rabbits on steroids.

‘Modern Leper’ kicks things off and it sounds great. Obviously more powerful than acoustic but also more potent than on CD. Depression really can sound this good.

This is a pattern that repeats as we get pretty much a rundown of the pain and despair of their last album. A run though of an obviously emotional phase in Scott Hutchinson’s life.

‘Fast Blood’ with its direct lyrics about intimacy, seems well, faster. ‘Good Arms vs. Bad Arms’ is as poignant as ever. A song about his girl not needing his bad arms now that that she's found a better pair. Is he bitter about that? Oh yes, armed with the past, and the will, and a brick.



Then there’s the ultimate sadness of 'My Backwards Walk', great to listen to, great to sing along to but impossible to read the lyric sheet to without feeling for Scott and reaching for the bottle. All ending with the revelation that 'you're the shit and I'm knee deep in it'

They include two new songs and the new single ‘Swim Until You Can't See Land’ sounded particularly good and dare I say it, a little more cheerful.



Good though they are tonight, I have to say I kind of prefer the unplugged style. The band and particularly the drums drown out Hutchinson’s wonderful Scottish accent, which came over as so vulnerable and had such impact acoustically. It also doesn't encourage crowd participation, who would have willingly sung along with every word but perhaps that’s a good thing. Listening to the audience sing when you’ve come to hear a singer can get tiresome after a while.



The slower and quieter start to ‘The Twist’ is an exception and allows Hutchinson’s vocals and his wonderful use of words to shine through on a song that is as gorgeous a cry for love as you’ll ever hear.

Then there’s ‘Poke’, so good acoustic but it actually seems even better with the full band behind it and a souped up ‘Square 9’ is a great one to finish with.



Then they find themselves up against curfew time, you should have come on earlier boys, and have to cut a song from the encore. It’s frustrating because I could see their set list but couldn't quite work out what it should have been because someone has bad hand writing. Another new song perhaps.

This leaves us with a rather rushed but still wonderfully biting ‘Keep Yourself Warm’ with everyone if not singing, mouthing, the words and joining Scott in telling his ex-girlfriend to well, F-Off, or perhaps everyone has got their own ex they wanted to pass the same message to but had never had Hutchinson’s capacity for words to do it in such style.

Wherever his ex is these days, her ears must have been well and truly ringing since he started touring this record back in 2008. Don’t be too hard on her though, without her there would never have been ‘The Midnight Organ Fight’ but it does make you wonder how anyone could get close to him again. If you fall out with him, you're going be immortalised in song.

Well I never thought I'd come back partially deaf from a FR gig. Tonight the band showed that not only can they make us cry but that they can make us rock too.

Afterwards we pop into a new pub called the Roundhouse, near Nottingham Castle, last time we looked it was a struggling Indian restaurant. Inside it looks suspiciously like the Hand And Heart right down to the plentiful but predictable selection of ales. It’s also very quiet. Oh no, another place we'll have to support to keep open.

The Wetter The Better

A bracing cycle ride this morning is just what the doctor ordered to clear the head of last night’s beer. I don't actually feel too bad, so I must have got my units about right. Well I didn't wobble of my bike. No idea what those units were though, too many 6% and 7%’s in there to calculate it.

The chilly morning prompts a first outing of the season for my long cycling trousers. I even had to stop and put my jacket on. It was at least a sobering experience. Hope it warms up or else they'll be chipping the ice off the River Trent tomorrow morning before they send the competitors into it.

Had to dodge a pedestrian this morning, who was in the middle of the road. People whinge about motorists and cyclists ignoring red lights but pedestrians do it too! He walked straight across the crossing without looking when I had the green light.

L could have done with a similar sobering up technique, she reckons she was still swaying from side to side when she staggered around town at lunchtime. That's what hitting the fruit wines as well as the beer does for you.

After work I cycle down to the Embankment, which is the start of tomorrow’s Survival Of The Fittest event. They are allowing people to register and collect their race numbers a day early. It’s raining when I get there and the organisers are stood outside, looking up at the sky, smirking and rubbing their hands with glee. The wetter the better I guess.

They offer me a choice of t-shirt colours, red or white. Red isn't my colour, so I go for white. However the folly of this idea soon hits me. Survival Of The Fittest is the only race I know where it seems to be the done thing to wear the race t-shirt during the race. Normally this is a definite no no under the strict rulebook of race t-shirt etiquette. How white this t-shirt will be after a dip in the Trent I’m not sure.

Then it's home to carbo-load with pasta. It’s not hard to be AF, after quite a heavy night last night at the beer festival plus both the kids are out, so all the more reason to stay in. In fact in view of that, I can feel a really early night coming on. A race night should be an early night anyway.

Is It All Over For Apples?

I cycled in bathed in glorious sunshine, so good I had to get the shades out. An hour later the British summer is back in its box and it’s raining again. Although on this occasion it’s partly Son’s fault, as he’s been away camping for the last two nights at two semi-secret locations in Nottingham, even he doesn’t seem totally sure where he was.

Talking of teenagers, incredibly the NHS in Sheffield has brought out a new leaflet advising youngsters ‘that an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away’. Now I may be getting on a bit but when I was a lad it was an apple. Which isn’t the same thing at all and I’ve no idea whether it worked or not because I’ve never been that fond of apples. Perhaps apples are no longer relevant because people are achieving their five portions of fruit and veg a day. So is it all over for apples?

At least it will do wonders for the Government’s teenage pregnancy targets. Not.

Typically the next downpour comes just as I’m leaving work. I hang on a bit and it does stop, but still I have to splash home through the puddles, which of course equals wet feet.

L’s running with MD tonight whilst I take Doggo training, so there’s bound to be at least one more rain shower to come.

Then after training its home for meat-free Monday, which aids the five portions of fruit and veg, and hopefully a spot of doctor evasion.