The fickle finger of fate

I cut my finger on a piece of cardboard the other day. No really I did. I was in Balcony Shirts unpacking a box of t-shirts when I somehow caught the second finger of my right hand on the inside of the box - when I bought my hand out it was bleeding profusely, in the way that your finger does when it gets cut, if you know what I mean. I made some rather weak gags about suing them for an industrial injury and then was obliged to refuse a sticking plaster on the grounds that I'm somewhat implausibly allergic to them. I thought no more of the cut until Monday when I was running through some perspective new material for Big Al Reed and The Blistering Buicks with Pete and Big Al - it was a bit itchy and hot but I decided that this was because it was getting better.
The next morning it was swollen and red - except for the bit by the fingernail which was an ominous shade of light green. I walked over to the chemist shop across the road from me where the very nice young lady behind the counter (I don't remember chemists being quite so heavily tattooed when I was a lad?!) told me that I could try some antiseptic or TCP but that I'd probably be better to go to my doctor and get some antibiotics. I attempted to lighten the mood by observing that as a six foot tall man I am of course a complete wimp and surely this isn't that serious - she replied that if I went in the next day or so I'd probably save my arm. She didn't look anywhere near as jocular as I would have liked her to look.
The next day I stumbled into my doctor's surgery reception area and waited to see the receptionist. My finger hurt. Actually my hand hurt. The second finger was more swollen than on the previous day and the green bit was, well, greener. Darker. Urgh. I explained my plight to the receptionist who told me that the next appointment available with my doctor was in a week's time, unless it's a medical emergency. 

'Is it a medical emergency?' 

'Well not really' I replied, 'although I do play the guitar, and...' 

At this point she saw my hand. Her eyebrows raised slightly.

'Can you come back at 2.30 today? The nurse can see you then'

Yes of course I can. Gulp.

Not long after my allotted time a cheery face appeared through the half-opened door. 

'Mr Heggarty? Would you like to come through?'

Yes of course I would. Gulp.

The nurse looked reasonably interested as she listened to my rather pathetic tale of cardboard carnage. When she saw my devastated digit her eyes widened. 'Hmm' she said typing furiously, 'I'd better get a doctor to have a look at this' adding 'I'll just put that it's urgent' as she typed six letters - presumably U-R-G-E-N-T - at a rather slower pace than she'd typed all the other letters. Within 30 seconds a lady doctor that I'd never seen before (I'm lucky enough to not have to go there very often!) let herself into the nurse's room, said hello and asked to look at my hand. 'Ah!' she said before explaining that yes I'd need antibiotics and that if they didn't work 'we'll have to use a scalpel'. 

I said that I'd like to try the antibiotics.

'I guess everybody asks if they can drink when I'm taking these?' 

She smiled as she looked up from scribbling a prescription. I could but they might not work as well as if I didn't. Ok then, I won't. Much.

£8.20 (£8.20!) later I had my tablets. I started taking them more or less immediately, and I'm still taking them now. But more about that in a minute.

It being the week of St. Patrick's Day I'd been contacted by Leeson to see if I'd like to join Neck for their celebratory shows; I was also asked if I'd like to play a couple of songs with Department S at their Half Moon Putney gig supporting The Members - sadly I was obliged to decline both of these offers. More seriously there was a Ruts DC recording session booked with James for tomorrow, but we decided it was best to postpone this until I'm fully recovered rather than waste time and money. Bah! Mind you this was also the week that Iain Duncan Smith resigned - there's lots to say about that but maybe I'll do that next time. I did heroically manage to wince my way through a couple of shows with Big Al and co. (at The Riverside Club in Staines and The Queen's Arms in Colnbrook since you've asked) but I fear neither of my performances will be seen as highlights of my rather dubious 'career'. It's all about that weird feeling that when you're waiting for something to go wrong it's very hard to make something go right - every time the end of my right second finger touched the guitar it sent a shot of pain right up my arm, and since I was always trying to stop that from happening I couldn't play how I would have liked. Not good frankly. Oh and I've just remembered that a bird, er, sent me a message on the way to the shop on Saturday. Why do people say that's lucky? It certainly didn't feel it when it happened.

Anyway I woke up this morning with my right hand throbbing. 'Time to do something about this' I said to myself (or maybe even out loud) as attempted to make a left - handed coffee. After horrifying the lads at the shop with the sight of my finger I once again stumbled into my doctor's surgery reception area and once again left with a 2.30 appointment to see the nurse. As I sat in the waiting room I amused myself with the (to me) ironic sight of The General Eliott being advertised on the TV screen in the corner - plugging a pub in a doctor's surgery eh? I also decided that I was more nervous than perhaps I had realised. It was a different nurse this time, but once again the same lady doctor was summoned after the nurse's eyebrows had practically hit the ceiling at the sight of the famous finger. 'I won't lie to you Leigh, this is going to hurt'. She wasn't wrong. It's never good when a doctor calls you by your first name is it?  

As I picked up another prescription's worth of antibiotics from the chemist I reflected on the previous few days. Not a good week. This week will be better. Please!

The early bird catches the worm that turns

Well 'twas indeed a roaringly good night at The 12 Bar Club in Holloway last Friday, with great sets from The Bermondsey Joyriders and The Phobics and The London Sewage Company playing what we all agreed was one of our most enjoyable shows so far. The evening was also notable for the appearance of my old friend Leeson O'Keeffe, who I first met back in the mid-1980s when he was playing in The Shout and I was in The Price. These days he leads 'psycho-ceilidh' band Neck, who I did a stint with 10 or so years ago. During the course of our conversation I found myself taking possession of several CDs and a large number of song sheets - yes, I'm back in Neck for a couple of shows on or around St. Patrick's Day... and in the interests of over-committing myself I'm hoping to team up with some of my old Chicago Blues Brothers buddies (the ones that I still talk to!) for a wedding gig next month; there are also Clash songs to learn for a very special show at Koko in a few weeks time, and rumours abound of The Price making a return to show business - it looks as though I'm in for a busy few weeks. 

Hopefully in the midst of all this mayhem there will still be time for some shows with Big Al Reed and The Blistering Buicks. Last weekend's gigs in Hillingdon at The Brushwood Inn and at Sally B's in Hoddesdon were both excellent - the Saturday night show in Hillingdon saw my Dad attend his first Buicks gig, and it being his 83rd birthday he was definitely seen as something of a celebrity by the band if not by quite a few of the audience. And continuing the birthday theme the next afternoon's gig had Al's Mum celebrating her 87th birthday; Al often says something along the lines of 'the old lady you see dancing down the front here isn't some sort of nutter, she's my Mum' - and he's right, the old lady you see dancing down the front is his Mum. I hope I'm that fit at her age. Actually I hope I make it to her or indeed my dad's age!

Anyway with lots of songs to learn there is unlikely to be too much blogging time over the next few weeks; I'm not out playing this weekend, but given the amount of work I've got to get through at home this for once might not be a bad thing... still I'll be making my first appearance of the year reviewing new music on Music Scene Investigation this coming Sunday evening, so if you're lurking in Cyberspace at 9 pm I'll see you then. In the meantime it's just gone (gulp!) 6 o'clock in the morning and as I say, after what feels like a relatively quiet time I've got work to do. What's that old saying? No rest for the wicked? I didn't think that I was that bad...

'The heat is rising, the past is calling...'

It's Tuesday teatime and we've had rain, thunder and lightning today, the after effects of which are usually a somewhat lighter atmosphere. Sadly not this time - if anything it's even more oppressive at the moment. This weather is so tiring isn't it? I sat down earlier today and woke up two hours later. Mind you that could be the hay fever, or maybe just be me being very old - after all, it is my birthday tomorrow...

It was my 'birthday gig' (if such a thing exists?) on Friday evening, when me and my buddies in The Upper Cut played two sweaty sets to the assembled throng at The Dolphin in Uxbridge. Our good friend Simon the DJ provided some great sixties sounds, and I was amazed that so many people showed up on such a hot night. It really was great to see everybody including my old mate Leeson O'Keeffe who I hadn't seen for absolutely ages. I played in his band Neck around a decade or so ago, and I have a hazy recollection of singing Irish songs with him into the early hours of Saturday morning. That used to happen a fair bit back then too.

All of this drunken tomfoolery meant that Saturday in Balcony Shirts was suitably bleary - then again, 'don't do the crime if you can't do the time' as the old saying goes... I got home and, you've guessed it, sat down and fell asleep. Hmmm... no time to worry about that now, as it's off to West Drayton for a Big Al Reed and The Blistering Buicks show. We thought the pub we were playing at was called The Rowan Arms, but when we got there we were told it had changed it's name back to it's original name of The Cat And Fiddle. All very confusing for someone in my (ahem!) fragile condition, as was the first set which I just couldn't get hold of if you know what I mean. However things thankfully improved for the second session (I even cut my hand by 'windmilling and being silly') with much dancing and merriment from the enthusiastic audience and a better performance from your (presumably now fully awake) humble narrator. Good!

I managed to get up in time for a Sunday afternoon Upper Cut show at Ye Olde George in Colnbrook. Our three-set show was supposed to finish at 8 o'clock but ran a bit over time, not least as they decided to hold a meat raffle just we were due to begin our second set. 'They like to get their money's worth here don't they?' said a rather rueful Roger in between sets two and three. He had a point... that said it was a thoroughly enjoyable show, with the band playing well and a lot of great comments from people afterwards. One chap told me that it had been one of the best shows that he'd ever seen - it'd be easy to do a 'you should get out more' gag at times such as that (no really, it would be!) but he'd had a great time, and I for one wasn't going to ruin it for him in any way. It's a simple life sometimes isn't it?

And yesterday it was back in to Balcony Shirts during the day then over to The Three Wishes in Edgware in the evening for their regular Monday jam night. Myself, Pete and Big Al joined Andy and Howard for 'Make Me Smile' and 'Baby Please Don't Go', and the whole thing was great fun from start to finish. Maybe it really is a simple life sometimes eh?

More from The Upper Cut this weekend - we're at Patrick's Bar in Crystal Palace on Friday and The General Eliott in Uxbridge on Saturday, with the latter being a new venue for us and a birthday bash for the afore-mentioned Simon who will also be DJing at the event. More hot nights in prospect then - let's hope I can stay awake in the meantime...