Must grow a beard…

Despite being snowed under by marking, I'm feeling very relaxed and happy. Anita and I went to see Spiers and Boden last night, at the New Victoria theatre in Newcastle-under-Lyme. It was the first night on a tour consisting of… one night. Folk gigs are odd anyway - you never know whether the crowd will sing and dance or not, but this was in a round theatre, which was polite but very intimate. Every proper folk beard in Staffordshire was present and correct.

Folkies are also immune from record company shenanigans - usually releasing their own stuff or being signed to sympathetic labels. This was never more clear than last night. Neither musical genius had been pressured to smarten up: they're clearly familiar with the changing rooms at Oxfam (though they're dressed up in this clip).

I liked the echoes of rock gigs: instead of ranks of spare guitars, Mr. Spiers was surrounded by different melodeons, and Mr. Boden had a couple of violins, a guitar, and an amplified plank to stand and dance on. They were great.

Except for the banter. In folk tradition, the origin of each song and an explanation of what it was about seemed to be compulsory. Sometimes, a terrible joke accompanied the context. However, there was some wit involved. One anecdote was followed by this comment: 'That's a traditional English joke, collected by Cecil Sharp and it's now in the Cecil Sharp Library' (sorry, obscure folk music joke. Perhaps you had to be there).

Anyway, it was a wonderful night, aided perhaps by the Zubrowka and apple juice cocktails…