Forgive me if I am wrong, I am not really sure about what religions do what and when - I have a vague idea, normally notified to me by way of presents, chocolate or fireworks.
I probably would have been better off trying to play a set of Nina Kraviz's slutty filthy house music in a mosque than Basingstoke Town Centre.
I was always aware that my music, despite how much I feel it has poked it's face above the underground in recent months and years, was never going to fit in with a clone town like Basingstoke which seems to have less personality than a pen lid. However, I was supposed to be playing in the garden, so nobody would take any notice as they would be too busy on with their fags, and hence, nobody would take offence.
It was probably karma that bit me. I was on the way to Basingstoke, and I was on "The Slug"
Yes I know, to my readers in most parts of the north, this kind of train would be a luxury, but I think it is ugly, and hence I told the ticket inspector that his train was ugly.
I had expected him to go along with me in bonhomie but instead he asked me for a comparison - I said of course, the South West trains are so much smoother, and slicker looking, and he turned around to me, probably not celebrating Easter though I guess I should have learnt my lesson by now about judging people's ethnicity, etc by skin colour as he turned around and said that it doesn't matter if it is ugly or not, because it is British engineering, and British workers made these trains - and British workers didn't make the nicer, smoother, more comfortable trains that I previously mentioned.
I was a little stumped, though more overly shocked at his passionate defence of my flippant comment, and I did make my comeback and explained it in terms of the relevance to tax-payers - why accept shit trains just because they are British? I started to explain the theory of comparative advantage, and he did reluctantly accept that the "HTC645's are a much sexier train". I may have got the HTC645 bit a bit wrong as I was clearly well out of my depth and he had to go deal with drunk cyclist hiding a dog in his bag on the train.
Anyway, so the garden where I was supposed to be playing had had it's soundsystem removed and I spent two hours listening to why my music would be so unacceptable and I snapped and realised that if I am going to do this DJ thing - I need to do it right. I need to do it my way.
I am not doing any old DJ sets for the sake of it.
I fear that I may be coming across as a bit of a diva however I am not wanting to put the venue or the promoter's short-comings in public, so lets just say that everything was absolutely not right for a beginner to have a crack at DJing - had I persisted, it probably would have set me back in terms of enthusiasm, desire and confidence so best not to waste my time and effort any longer and come home with my debut still to be determined when it will be...and it will come.
And it would be much better if my debut was in Reading. The town I know, and the town that I think I still just about love...in comparison to elsewhere.
The slug certainly got me back to Reading at a good speed.
Reliability shat on creativity. The show will go on.
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