You grab a pint before heading upstairs at The Hop.
YOU HAVE SPENT THREE POUNDS
Something appears to be wrong. Squeezing your way up the
staircase, you can hear a band on stage, but you’ve clearly got you timetable
wrong because the noise is obscenely loud, and you are quite sure The Do’s are
a two piece.
Sliding your way into the main room you find that, yes, it
is The Do’s on stage. They are just ridiculously heavy, in a low slung, deeply
guttural sense. They’ve attracted an impressive following, a mix of loyal
locals and curious newbies. They seem to thrive on the expectation.
Half way through the gig, a young girl far too excited to
contain her joy to the pit jumps up on stage and busts some impressive moves. A
silver haired photographer catches the moment, and you wonder if she will
regret her flamboyance in the morning. Surely not.
You feel a rumble in your belly. That pint has left you
peckish. As if in response, the belly of the person next to you experiences a
rumbling belly too – almost loud enough to rival that of The Do’s.
You look at each other in mild embarrassment.
“I hear the pies they are serving in Drury Lane are really rather excellent”
the short ginger haired lady says. “Fancy a look?”
Do you
