Psicle: Four into three is 75 pee

My Birmingham days housemates are all at my gaff today (Friday 4th) although not necessarily at the right times. Simon leaves in the early morning and goes straight into town from work to meet Simon who's working down here and then comes over to mine for the evening whereas Jon comes here straight from work and don't make it into town but Simon is jet lagged and not seeing any of us today. Work out which Simon is Ramsay or Olly or Simon yourselves. After a couple of festival strength G&Ts courtesy of Debbie and beers the 4 of us (me, Debs, Ramsay, Jon) pump up the bike tyres, audit the lock situation, don our helmets (compulsory) and with one front and back light between us we snake off up to the Brixton Windmill to hand over our £3 each for our wrist stamps. It's pretty empty in here and the first band, or bloke, is on. Mark Hex has backing tape and plays a fuzzy guitar singing odd ditties and I think he's pretty good. Others are not convinced. I guess I do cos as I'm trying to play myself he seems fairly proficient. Some of the backing music is good and with the shouty singing some songs are a little Sleaford Mods like. We retire to the smoking room realising that you don't need to light up here it's so full of smoke. Next up are Baraka who are two great guitarists and a drummer. The guitarists swap between rhythm and lead with some great soloing. The drumming is mostly a sort of jazz soft shoe vibe picking up to a harder edge when the guitars go fast furious and punky. They are a great band jumping from 70s ish guitar rock to hard rocking riffing to post punk grunge power chording. Jon reckons a cross between Dire Straits and The Fall (I think that's what you said Jon) and I can't argue. At the end the singer asks us if we want to end with two songs or one jam. I immediately shout "jam" which is a great choice if I say so myself as they launch into a ten minute rocked out jam festival style. Fantastic stuff. After we get to chat with the singer guitarist in the garden and he seems chuffed that we tell him how great they are. By this time the place is full and the bar staff busy. Ramsay persuades me to buy a round of chasers in the form of Jager Bombs which both breaks my bank and sets the tone for the night. I'm feeling generous tonight and buy a large brandy for some lonely trendy youngster who Debs accidentally pushes in front of at the bar. He's a nice enough guy so glad we bought him a snifter. With renewed vigour we sidle towards the stage as Great Dad take the stage. Another great band. Drummer standing at his kit thumping out great beats a lot like those indie Killing Joke type bands (that is a very good thing). Singer who has a brilliantly energetic stage presence often shouting in a Mark E Smith way (why do all bands sound as if influenced by Hawkwind and all singers by MES?). This a little odd as he's dressed and moves around the stage a lot like Mark Almond. The third of the trio with long hair swaps between flute (you don't see many of those at the Windmill), saxophone and I think a guitar but the Jager Bombs have befuddled me memory. Overall it's a great rocky psychedelic sound a bit like a sophisticated updated south London scene Blurt. Last up are headliners Italia 90 who half of look like regulation skins (you can't tell really by the awful photo). They start fast and furious and I'm inevitably drawn into the small mosh pit to jump around with their diverse group of fans. At times they slow down and psyche out a bit but it's mainly full on punkiness. They end quite abruptly and then we are left to have one for the road and dance around to the disco, which no one ever dances to, which the DJ gets bored with and puts on a Beastie Boys mix tape which suits me and Ramsay down to the ground and we dance regardless. The ride home starts ominously with Ramsay crashing into a wall within 50 yards and ends farcically by him overshooting the house and having an argument with a discarded Christmas tree. Oh what festive fun! Once safely back inside we drink tea, eat crisps and play an impossible chair stacking game. No, not with real chairs but little plastic ones.

Saturday is a slow wake up with various of us vowing never to drink Jager Bombs again, until next time they are offered I guess, and after breakfast Ramsay leaves (by the way I've got your hair gel). Early afternoon Jon drives me and him to Dulwich where we meet up with Simon and watch the Hamlet lose 2 nil to Bath City the second being a crazy back header own goal.

Great weekend. Cheers guys. See you all in March for 1970 punking pub rock. Except Olly - see you tomorrow night for Galette des Rois.