I enter the Amersham arms to find it full of fucking students. Not just anything fucking students, but damned Goldsmiths fucking students. I'd worn my scenester orange stripey jumper just in case, but its not match for the crowd tonight, they all look like folk for Driven By Boredom, or style magazines. Everyone looks like they're sucking in their cheeks.
All the people I know aren't here, except Gay Against You who I've seen a few times before, they're perched behind a merchy table by the door. That girl who looks like Jef in Glasgow is here and some cutie who looks like a younger Katrina House, I make eye contact and give her my winning smile, she runs. There's a girl wearing exciting eye make-up who looks really pissed off, I wondeer whether to ask her if she's an astronaut, but she vanishes before I have a chance.
Reappearing moments later as part of a three-piece cabaret act, waltzing through the audience in leotards with hula hoop rings, before conjuring a set of skipping ropes and luring unsuspecting Katrina House lookalikes to skip mid-dance floor.
The music thats been blaring out for the evening has been early nineties cheese-dance by the sound of things. A few people making shapes on the dancefloor, fucking students on E. I wonder how many retired pornstars are in the room.
Time passes and Gay Against You take to the stage.
The have technical problems with guitar noise, but eventually get going. Launching themselves out into the audience, half of whom try to start a fight, then leave in digust. The good-time fun of GAG isn't for them.
Eventually the crowd get into it, embracing the offered microphones to sing along and contribute their own lyrics. Joe on keyboards seems more reserved than usual, leaving most of the theatrics to Lachlann.
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