Dancing with weirdos

As if I didn’t have enough diddly diddly music at my folky foray in the summer, friend X has seduced me into another banjo extravaganza. This one involves men in dungarees, Grandad shirts and bowler hats. Not so much Mumford and Sons as Mr Mainwaring on his day off from the Home Guard. Anyway, if I think the band is slightly eccentric, the audience is off its head. First of all, we’ve got a man in a three piece suit carrying a leather briefcase complete with racoon tail. Mind you, this is Lewes, a town that embraces paganism and likes its cats, not so much in a basket by the fire but splayed across a front door with a big nail in its head,  so I shouldn’t be surprised. Then there’s the woman with the Suzi Quatro feathercut and trilby hat talking to the barman about fellatio at the top of her voice. She’s having to shout to make herself heard over the band which is great because we now know she gives great head but she always takes her hat off first. Meanwhile, the band has whipped the audience up into a frenzy and when I say people are ‘dancing’, I mean they’re skipping and pirouetting and twizzling like maniacs.  As I leave, the girl with the trilby hat is flashing her pants to a man on a washboard. Blow job anyone?