Scared Stiff Little Fingers

March 17th looms, which can mean only one thing...

The 'Annual Pilgrimage' to Glasgow's Barrowlands to see Stiff Little Fingers!

Being the only Englishman in Glasgow's east end, on St. Patrick's Day, at an Irish punk band's gig filled with pished Celts, is something I find a little disconcerting to say the least...

I liken myself at this event to a fox, having hired a crappy hound costume from a bargain-basement fancydress shop, trying to pass itslef off as a member of the pack during a hunt.

Ach, I do 'em a disservice! Last year was my first time at the gig, and it was a hoot. The atmosphere was great, the band better, and we all had a jolly good time. The scariest thing was the initial queue to get a beer: the bouncers marshalling us as we all shambled nearer the bar were a frigtfest. If you so much as stepped out of line by half a foot, you'd get barked at and have one of them in your face in a trice. Think Rab C Nesbitt crossed with the "Get-in-the-back-of-the-van!" cop from Withnail and I, sporting DMs and no hair, and you're pretty much there (ah-ha! Stereotypes ahoy!).

If you happen across this, and happen to attend the gig, look out for me.

I'll be the one saying "Aye" a lot and trying my best not to appear to be English. If you see a Hugh Grant-alike attempting one of his 'foreign' accents, wearing a rock tee-shirt... That'll be me.