You left me (you sods) in Dalston, tipsy and hungry.
Thank you, Pizza Union. You not only fed me well for £7, I also got the small thrill of the little buzzer that tells you when your pizza is ready.
I must have been to Dalston before, the famed GBG Railway Tavern is just over the road, but it all looked like new and shiny, a richer but duller cousin of Hackney.
And how had I never been to the Shacklewell, as iconic a London venue as the Lexington. And with a lovely Watney sign for the hipsters.
More gig venue than boozer these days; n cask, just Five Points keg, and I’d had enough.
Sadly, I only managed the set from Elizabeth Morris (ex of Allo Darlin, the GOAT), and then succumbed to a combination of too much beer and claustrophobia. So I missed Bill Botting, the man with the biggest smile in the world.
Still, a great day. Until the 10.44 was hideously delayed and I had to sit with a group of rugger types from King’s Lynn moaning and groaning about their home point with the Scots (how did that happen ?).
They kept looking at me for confirmation that it was a turn-up for the books and they needed Will Carling back for the World Cup. Whatever.
One chap had been in hospitality, one claimed only to have had a half, the third tucked into his train beers and his fruit;
And then he said “Rugby was the real winner today”. He really did.