Desperate Journalist in Dalston

A few days ago my lovely chum Ashley Jones and I arranged that we'd meet up in London this week. He'd mentioned that he was going to gig in Dalston (pictured!) tonight to see Desperate Journalist, fronted by the lead singer of my favourite all girl Duran Duran tribute band, Joanne Joanne, so that seemed like a good occasion to get together.

He'd also mentioned that Dalston, where the venue was located, was devilishly hard to get to by public transport. Now, in London, I travel by foot or, if it's too far or I'm short of time, by Underground. What I don't do is take the bus. I have no idea which numbers go where and I have probably been on a bus in central London less than five times in the last thirty years, and even then only because my brother was with me and appeared confident about the bus's route.

However, today, when I was googling to find out where Dalston was, the transport for London website came up and this included bus routes from Waterloo to Dalston, specifically the 76 and 243. Thus, after checking with my mum as to where the bus stops are at Waterloo Station, I decided to try catching a London bus.

Well, in retrospect, the pre-trip nerves and tension were somewhat unwarranted: I walked out of the station, found the bus stop and got on the bus. Recalling the bus-wisdom of the Liverpudlian Buddha, Gary Bainbridge, I took the seat immediately above the driver.

Two things struck me as we travelled through the heart of London: firstly, buses stop a lot more often in the city than they do in the countryside. And, secondly, that you need some kind of deathwish to ride a bike in London.

Anyway, I found Dalston by the simple process of looking out for the names on the bus stops and then dashing down the stairs when I saw the one I wanted. There was some confusion over Tipsy's advertised address, which is actually a shop, but I found the entrance down a side street and went in.

The Desperate Journalist fanbase transpired to be an enjoyably diverse group of people and enjoyed watching them whilst boring Joanne Joanne's charming bassist with my theory concerning the golden age of bass-playing* and I would like to take this opportunity to thank her and, indeed, express my admiration for the way in which she contrived to look interested. Young ladies humouring middle-aged men is one of life's great kindnesses.

The gig itself was great, with Desperate Journalist's guitarist absorbing most of my attention - he was very good and had a great sound - apart from the times when I found myself marvelling at the fan of theirs who likes to dance at the front of every gig. Combine all of that with a few drinks and a chat with Ash and it was a pretty much perfect evening. And I got the bus back to Waterloo without incident :-)

*1979-1983: Dave Allan, Derek Forbes, Mick Karn, John Taylor et al