Out on the tiles..

I’m not a fan of folk music; tin whistles and tapestry waistcoats leave me cold but I do like a berber with a bongo so I was very happy to go and see Tiramisu or whatever they were called. They were a lively bunch of swarthy gentlemen dressed in robes and wrap-around bonnets and they played a pretty mean geetar. The lead singer resembled Keith Richards (weird but strangely cool) while his sidekick was a sort of Bob Marley type (hair like a brillo pad and wavy arms). That was last week. Last night, I went to see a blast from the past – Yellowman, a cross between dance hall reggae and High School Musical. Another lively performer, now in his sixties, Mr Yellowman came on dressed like a basketball player and proceeded to high kick and grind his scrawny groin at the crowd. How we whooped. The audience all had dirty necks and wild, stary eyes but they were very appreciative of Mr Yellowman’s gurgling and moaning. I quite liked it too.