A little cruder than my usual blog titles (if you don't know what it means in Irish look it up) but that's the title of the night or to give it it's full title "Pogue Mahone: a celebration of the life and music of Shane MacGowan". Of course it's the Windmill with a house band featuring revolving members of the great and good of south London post punk neo psych-flunk-adelic bands which is the nearest we'll be getting to those classic Pogues christmas specials at the Academy back in the day. It's a sell out and packed already when we arrive to say hello to Simon and Jules and to wish them Yuletide greetings and exchange presents (sorry not wrapped). Simon gets the Guinness in at least for him and myself after all we are celebrating Shane. The band are on and the first we hear is the classic The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn which as I say to Debbie we can go home now. Joking. We watch the first of three sets stood on the seating getting dirty looks from the line of regulars at their usual door side table. Thinking we got to sit on that tomorrow evening get your dirty feet off them. Well we're not the only ones getting a good view. The first set gets the crowd going with a fair bit of dancing but we're keeping our powders dry for the time being. After this we go outside for a natter. Back inside for the 2nd set things are hotting up a bit and it's easier to get closer to the stage as although just as many punters in there's more moving about giving room to ease in. By this time the band has got into it's groove, possibly with slightly different musicians but they certainly are revolving, and they really do sound like the Pogues. We are treated throughout the night with all the classics and at various times I'm pushed (thanks Jules) or pulled (gravitational force) into the seething jumping reeling throng. After that set we chat at a table which is surprisingly free as I think everyone else is outside. Or in the toilet, see separate section. Simon has bought me a half as he's either concerned about my weight, sobriety or spent all his dosh on xmas presents. If the former he's thwarted by a very nice woman leaning over with a nearly full pint of the creamy black stuff saying that she can't drink it all and do we want it instead. Do bears shit in the woods? Was Shane MacGowan Irish? (OK born in Kent but raised on the Emerald Isle). Maybe it's instant karma as I told the bar staff to keep the change (they prefer cash at the Windmill) when I bought my first round. By the 3rd set of the night I am a few pints into the Guinness and so we all variously enjoy a jig in with the crowd. It's a brilliant night and with the help of the stout I'm believing it could be the Pogues up there. They must have practiced a fair bit or maybe just know the Pogues numbers well. By the end there are a fair few on stage and they end with a great rendition of the famous Fairytale of New York. We're singing along to both Shane and Kirsty. The crowd are dancing and hugging and generally loving the night but it's now at an end. We retrieve our presents from the table, everything is safe at the Windmill it seems, and fall out into the cold night air to say goodbye. I've not locked up anyone's bike like last time but manage to lose my front light fitting aka bit of rubber and Debs and I cycle home singing Pogues songs and Debbie yelling out Merry Christmas to surprised passers by. One of whom replies the same. Back home we unwisely toast Shane and Kirsty before falling into slumber. Me on the sofa.
I usually write about travels but to expand my repertoire I'm going to mention the toilet. Anyone who has been to the Windmill will know that the gents is not somewhere to linger although it does have an excellent display of band and other stickers. Unfortunately The Burnout is gone but it lasted more than most. My first visit was uncomfortable as there were about a dozen blokes in the crapper cubicle all whom were later on stage. Not the most relaxing having a piss when everyone else in the room are obviously there for nefarious purposes and laughing and joking. The next time I'm in it's empty as the cubiclers are all on stage. After I've zipped up (worth mentioning as in my dotage I sometimes forget especially after a few jars) I notice that the wet floor is due to the leaking radiator and the small metal bucket underneath is overflowing. I pick it up to pour into the urinal trough just as someone else comes in. As I pour the water the guy say to me "good samaritan eh?" but his look changes as I'm pouring too quickly and it's sploshing out over our shoes with a mix of well you can guess. I replace the bucket and make a swift exit to mingle into the heart of the crowd where he can't spot me. To be fair I'm sure he's had worse and it's only fitting.
Postscript. As I'm out and about the next day trying to find a Sp*rs bead cover (do NOT ask, and no, noone sells them in south London which is strictly either local or The Arsenal) I go past the Windmill and retrieve my light fitting which is of course in the gutter where I swear I looked last night. There is a keyboard stand and iPhone cable leaning against the bike stand. Obviously left there overnight by a band member. The guy who runs the place is bending over one of the tables outside fixing it with a mate. I give him the stand and cable and say that it was quite a night last night. He laughs and says it surely was. I ask if it's going to be an annual event and he gives a knowing chuckle and pats my shoulder. Just as a ball falls from the heavens and lands on the head of his mate. Followed by (son of) roof dog leaning over the lip of the roof. Ah he wants to play. The faulty radiator is also outside so I don't have to worry about getting a horrible mix of fluids over my creepers next time I'm here. Which will be on Sunday for the NYE / Debbie birthday bash.
Shane MacGowan is dead. Long live the Pogue Mahone!
Thanks to Debbie and Jules for the great videos
