Low

The gig was "a celebration of 29.5 years of UK punk".

The venue was appropriate for oldschool punk - a slighly dingy pub called "The Barn" populated by a mix of beery oiks and art students. Also appropriately punky was that three of the bands shared half each other's members. And perhaps that the gig started an hour late.

Strict Machines (the unshared band) opened with the now predictably blinding 20 minute set, in spite (or perhaps because) of the state of the members. Fabio and Anna were exhausted from work, and Paul was stoned out of his skull.

I took some pictures, but the light was far too low, and the band were dressed in gothic glam, so the images came out mainly black.

I wasn't paying full attention, having bumped into an old friend from previous gigs. I say "friend" - I can never remember his name, he's absolutely always drunk, and he's one of those "I'm completely straight me, but my girlfriend's just dumped me and I'm wondering if I'd like it with a bloke" types of men.

A flirter, but one who will happily let someone bite his ear and stroke his nipples, just so long as he can tell his watching crowd of friends that it's not really his scene.

So we flirted and threw double-entendre's each other's way - in front of the girl who later turned out to be the one who'd dumped him half an hour previous. This continued through the next band - Goffman, who play "grown up" (their term) blues rock.

A little too grown up for me - the kind of musicianship you can breathlessly admire, but leaves you unmoved.

Then I was rapidly overcome with a feeling that really ought to have a name, but doesn't. The feeling of "Why am I going through with this drivel? What's gone wrong in my life? Where did my youth go?". Or perhaps "This is a waste of time and I'm not even enjoying it. There's got to be something better than this. This life is wasting away."

So I made some quick goodbyes and walked home, consoling myself on the way with a box of chicken and chips. It didn't help, partly because some of it came up a minute after it went down.

But I did come up with a name for the feeling: Zeitschmertz - loosely, Time Pain.

I have until 8pm to prepare a 20 minute seminar presentation, and a pervasive sensation that something has got to change.

Right. Seminar first, then change.