A Brief History of SE15 (and a longer ramble about nothing in particular)

- "Look at them. How they hell did they get on the guest list? Some of them look younger than the Gang of Four's back catalogue. I bet they've never even seen them live."

- "Have you?" - "No . . . but you know what I mean."

By rights, this really should have been a post celebrating the wonderful world of blogging. It was supposed to be the pay off for all those times I have either stared at a blank 'create post' page, thinking what Socialist Standard article am I going to link to today; or when I have admonished myself with the words: "Okay, tomorrow I'm getting my arse in gear with a new blog", when I've suddenly realised that it was five or six weeks since I last blogged about anything; or even those occasions I have had to defend myself feebly against the accusation thrown at me of: "What is your obsession with eighties pop music, and why can't you fucking write about anything else?"

Yeah, it was all supposed to make up for that but instead this blog post is more about me standing out in the cold last Friday night overhearing that snippet of dialogue reproduced above, and at the time half wanting to laugh along with the guy calling his young mate on his daft petulant outburst, whilst at the same time the other half of me wanting to wrap my arm around the young bloke's shoulder and chime in with: "Aye, too bloody right, mate. Its outrageous that the McFly fan club are swanning in through the door without a care or leave whilst me and you - who know all the words to 'Anthrax' - are standing outside with our noses pressed against the window like a couple of orphan kids in a Dickens' Christmas tale."

What the hell am I wittering on about? Just that on the Friday morning I received an email out of the blue from a bloke who must have just stumbled across my blog whilst google searching for Gang of Four on the web, and was kind of enough to tell me about a secret gig that Gang of Four were doing that night at a pub in South East London, in preparation for their appearance at the Shepherd Bush Empire the following week, and would I be interested?

As I've currently got less capital than an as yet undiscovered Indian tribe in the Amazonian Basin, of course I was up for it. I've not got the money for the Shepherd's Bush gig so I thought I would chance my arm and go down to this pub in New Cross that the bloke mentioned that they would be playing at. The thing is, though, me and South East London just don't seem to get on at the best of times. I remember one time a comrade and myself were leafletting an Animal Rights demo in South East London a few years back, and we just thought we would follow on the march that was making its way to Central London.

Being an Animals Rights demo, the marchers were mostly made up of little old ladies in twin sets and pearls, and punks with the obligatory Shut Down Huntingdon placard in one hand and a can of Tennants Super Strength in the other. This demo, coming as it did at the time of the first upsurge of 'anti-capitalist' demos such as J18 and the November 30th mini-riot* at Euston Station, meant that the police presence was heavy handed and all the pubs along the way of the march were closed to the demonstrators. This other comrade and me were desperate for a drink and half way through the march we decided to nip down this side street in search of a pub for a *cough* piss and a pint. Unfortunately we found a pub, and thought we had walked into that scene at the start of American Werewolf in London - sudden silence falling on the pub and not so friendly glances in our direction by way of a welcoming hello.

Thing is we were safe; we sort of blended in, in a roundabout way. Both dressed smart but casual - otherwise known as the £1 rack at Save The Children Fund charity shop - and with that special complexion that only Scottish people can have on an especially sunny day, we were able to drink our pints in peace 'cos we looked like part of the set up. I spyed a couple of pool players wearing Celtic jerseys so I proceeded to conduct this within earshot conversation about Celtic always hammering Hearts (the other comrade is a supporters of the Edinburgh Huns in purple), just to add extra authenticity. The poor sods were the punk animal rights activists who had had the same idea as us about the P & P, and were met with open ridicule when walking into the pub. I sort of made a mental note there and then not to choose to have a drink in a South East London pub if I could help it.

Sorry, I'm rambling and digressing with a piss poor anecdote, but to get back to the matter at hand of me standing outside a pub in New Cross on a cold Friday night, it turns out that the gig for the Gang of Four was a 'guest list only' affair. Only they had neglected to mention that to the listeners on XFM that morning when they announced details of the secret gig. That meant that a few people turned up with the same idea as myself - seeing up close and sweaty Andy Gill, Jon King and the other two ripping through their back catalogue. I'm afraid I'm not shameless enough to blag my way in, and apart from the nanosecond when I considered the scheme of trying to pass me off as the producer of Entertainment (a fail safe plan only marred by the fact that I couldn't remember who produced the album and, whoever it is, they are probably about 55 now), I decided to cut my losses and head back from whence I came.

Of course, I could have stuck around in the hope of either slipping in if and when some of the Guest List didn't turn up and there would be room to spare, or re-enacting that scene from Fellini's film of me standing the other side of the glass, watching everyone else have a good time, but that would be too reminiscent of Socialist Party branch meetings held in lively pubs whilst we are upstairs reading the minutes of the last meeting, so I headed back on the underground safe and secure in the knowledge that Reidski would be giving an in-depth review of the Shepherd's Bush gig this coming Friday. Don't let me down, man.

* Shame I wasn't blogging then. That would have been a blog and a half.