beandog

Finally, at last I'm back in Cyberspace.
Apologies are due to all of you who may be under the impression that I've ceased all communication due to lack of interest. Not so. The truth is that life has been a bit a bit of a hurricane since the birth of my second child. His arrival has sent his older sister into a state of hyperactivity; eager to maintain her position of top dog of the household she whips around like a whirling dervish. Nothing too disruptive, but enough to make the days seem a little bit too much like hard work. Factor into this my return to work, my wife's lack of income due to not being at work and a few unavoidable but necessary social events. Life is busy and energy seems like a rare and valuable commodity right now. It is this lack of energy that's kept me away from the keyboard and chasing sleep where I can.
I've also discovered that the longer I spend away from my journal the harder it is to write down an account of what's been going on. So where do I start?

Well, everyone loves a celebrity story, so here's one of my own.
A couple of Wednesday's ago I had a brush with royalty. An event that inspires little more than indifference in myself but provides me with a cool story to tell my parents and work colleagues who in turn fill with pride and gush with admiration (hehe).

My band was playing a venue in Earls Court, London. An event very much hampered by the fact that it clashed with the UEFA Champions league football final. All across town, pubs and bars full to capacity entertained the masses with their big screen coverage of Liverpool Vs A C Milan.
Meanwhile, in a basement on the Old Bromton Road, Martyn Halsey took to the stage with an act that consisted of him playing jazz/blues guitar whilst he whistled over the top. Don't believe me? Google it.
My own band, thankfully, began to play an hour or so after the football had finished. At least this meant that by this time a few people had drifted in to watch us. One group of punters sat down on a nearby table, ordered drinks and watched us play. A bit of banter went on between them and us; all in all we were having a good time. It wasn't until one of the group came up afterwards to congratulate our singer that we noticed who he was. It was Prince Harry. Son of princess Diana. Third in line to the throne. Here he was slumming it up in the dark with us. Now, I'm not really one to get all hot under the collar when it comes to celebrity and all of the trimmings that come with it; but I have to admit to being impressed by the size of the prince's entourage. When I refer to size what I am actually talking about is the "don't fuck with this kid or I will put your nuts in a blender before you blink" factor. These dudes were big.
Not as big, however, as the other dudes. Sat away from the main group on a separate table were two SAS types. These guys were the real deal. Quietly sipping water they tried to look inconspicuous. Not an easy task when you carry the air of a man who would lay down his life in a moment if it ensured the safety of the young prince.
One of Harry's posse approached us to take down our details and asked if we were available for private functions! Fuck me if I'm not expecting a call from the Queen any day now to book us in for the next Royal Variety Performance. Haha, now that would be a sight to behold.
The part of this tale that I like the most and what really gives me a buzz is the fact that royalty or not, the reason they all came in was purely out of curiosity. They could hear us playing from the outside as they walked past. They liked what they heard and decided to investigate. And, for those of you that may be wondering, each one of them paid their six quid entry fee, including the prince!

Stay safe; I'll try not to leave it so long next time.