Bomb Disneyland

Saturday, early afternoon Mr H’s big car trundles south on the hideously inadequate A12 which is just lines of queuing traffic.  “It just doesn’t work…” says Mr G, referring to our countries road system.  His words were prophetic.  The journey south could have been torturous if the craic wasn’t so good, we have loads in common to chat and laugh about, not least music, which was our reason for braving the counties south of the Stour.  The lure today was a mini festival at Crystal Palace called ‘South Facing’, part of a series of gigs of various different genres, todays had a distinctly punky vibe.

We crawled south, the car interior a literal haze and lashings of Mr G’s home brew were shared.  Eventually two lanes of madness became three or four, the M fucking 25.  The sign said Dartford crossing seven miles but already we were queuing still this didn’t matter, the chat flowed, autumn isn’t far away, it will soon be Pike time…  Then the big bridge loomed and we were crawling to its summit.  Fuck this thing is seriously high, I don’t like it.  We soon returned to earth and shortly after left the motorway, once we were heading into London traffic flowed quicker…  Fuck, London.  I’ve just remembered I don’t like London, after eighteen months coming back here is a culture shock.  Thankfully(?) this part of the city is much cleaner and more affluent than many places we’ve passed through over the years.  Soon we pulled up and spilled out of the car into a leafy avenue in a nice suburban area, the journey had been a laugh, despite taking three fucking hours.

We spent a few minutes spent getting ourselves upright and onto our legs, orientating ourselves with the surroundings and forgetting things,  then we set off towards Crystal Palace park.  Or so we hoped, the direction was dictated by some kind of GPS type app thingy on Mr G’s phone.  Despite my initial scepticism this new fangled invention was actually accurate and we soon found ourselves walking through the park following the sound of music!  There were strange squawks coming from the foliage, apparently Parakeets are common in this part of London and something parrot shaped definitely flew over at one point.   We made it to the gates, showed our tickets and the useless Covid app thingy and were allowed entry to a small natural arena, fringed by bars and food stalls, surrounded by tall trees.  It all looked very nice but before we could really take it all in we needed to find the fourth punk piker, our friend from the west.  After a few minutes of scanning the crowd blindly and being distracted by potentially far more attractive humans I spied our pal.  Mr S was leaning on a bin rolling a fag, about five metres in front of us.

We spent time stood at the top of the bowl, just catching up, Mr S lives on the other side of the country but we share passions, music being just one of them, when was the last time we’d all been in the same place was?  The autumn of 2019 for ‘Fucked up’ in Islington.  The laughs continued and the chat whirled but meanwhile there was music on the stage.  This was someone called Jane Weaver (I think) but she pretty much passed me by, all I can remember is she wasn’t shit.  In fact the first part of the afternoon is quite hazy, Mr H was designated driver as he is always happy to be but Mr G and I had been imbibing steadily, as things turned out a little too steadily.

Another band appeared.  These were called The Orielles making decent sounding indi rock sounds.  We stood staring dumbly before Mr G and I decided had we not been really caned we would be down amongst the crowds already, so off we set.  The band was okay, didn’t move me much but the sound was pretty good, the girl singing needed a bit of help though.  When they finished we went off wandering aimlessly in the guise of searching for food, everyone seemed to have lost the ability to make a decision so I found a stall with a short queue and ordered what I though was a burger.  It was actually a plastic tray of chips and strips of steak, doused in thick garlic butter.  It tasted okay despite the garlic but the cost of twelve quid was highly unpalatable.  I suppose these businesses are trying to claw back over a year’s worth of lost revenue but that’s just a fucking rip off.  A captive audience has no choice.

Back to the bottom of the bowl, elbowing our way through a growing crowd, we wanted to get in amongst it for the next band.  Fat White Family was the main reason I was here, this band sounds very average on record but live they have a great sound that envelopes the senses and enchants the feet.  Tonight they ripped through a set of punky anthems with energy, enthusiasm and much shedding of clothes.  These are one of my favourite live bands at the moment, I hope to see them again soon.  

Next up was someone I’d never encountered, Baxter Dury (yes son of Ian) who resembles his father but is definitely taller.  The show started slowly and for the first couple of tunes I wasn’t getting it but the longer it went the more I enjoyed the show.  I’d definitely give him another look.  Finally it was the headliner; I like Sleaford Mods and what they do live really works but it’s all too samey on record.  By the time they came on stage a long day of arduous toil was catching up with me and I was feeling decidedly ropey.  I still managed to enjoy Sleaford Mods but the experience would have been much better if I had not made the amateurish mistake of forgetting to pace myself.  For the best part of the evening I was more weary than any point during the Latitude weekend.

The music ended, we limped back up the slope, said our goodbyes to Mr S then pointed our aching feet in the direction we guessed the car might be.  In the end we’d got it right and the yomp back was brightened by two skinny foxes both of which seemed totally unfazed by us invading their streets.  After about seven hours without a sit down the car seat was like a curvaceous embrace and just as welcome.  On the way back the roads were clear and the journey much quicker though I didn’t see much of it.  My brain was awake but my eyes tired and yes I definitely did doze off towards the end.  But it had been another good day, after so long without live music I’ve been spoiled lately.