the responsibility

Though 12:20 isn't anywhere near the start of the day and not leaving the flat much before that indicates a shockingly inefficient use of holiday-time, the first thing arranged for the day was attendance at the Collings and Herrin podcast starring Richard Herring and Andrew Collins, usually recorded in Herring's attic but occasionally performed in front of a live studio audience. They're usually worth listening to and were definitely slightly better live, though whether this was because of the audience feedback or a perceived requirement to provide something worth the money the paying customers paid was unknown. After each of the next five days' recordings Collins and Herring are inviting their audience to join them in visiting the baked potato vendor Herring traditionally visits each year when he comes up to do a show with the intention of attempting to see if they can create a crowd large enough to exceed the lunchtime potato-availability of the shop. Listen to the podcast for more information if you're going to be in the area, though it's also worth adding to your podcast feeds anyway.

After the show and a bit of a wander (though no potato as I'd had a late breakfast, would be expected to sit and have a big tea with Nicky and father later, was still half-full from Ann Purna yesterday and hadn't been for a run since Saturday) I hung around the town centre to see which out of David77 and father would turn up first after they were both queried as to their location and disposition. Being slightly more inclined to notice when his mobile has beeped at him David77 turned up first, though as he already has his shot for the day the relatively wind-reduced dearth of people on the streets was of no matter. Father eventually turned up and spotted us (after several failed attempts to get him to answer his phone) just in time for it to be worth popping for a coffee and muffin without potentially filling anyone up too much to eat later.

Whilst father was at the Usher Hall and Nicky sat on the sofa drinking Lemsip and snorting Olbas I popped out to work to retrieve the only one of our many old-style fat-plug Nokia chargers whose location I knew in order to ensure father's old-style fat-plug Nokia remains operational throughout his stay; there are several more somewhere in the flat but it was easier to get the one sitting in my desk that attempt to look through all the boxes into which everything was stuffed prior to April's replastering. Though it seems completely out of character he turned out to have popped to a pub for a pint after his show, though it's entirely possible that he went the wrong way when he left the venue, ended up amongst some pubs and popped in when the rain started seeing as he'd left his waterproof in the flat. Despite the potential for further directional mis-hap he arrived at the Assembly Hall shortly after we did in time for the multi-person Amnesty gig, always worth going to for a decent selection of acts even if not as many as the several-hour Stonewall benefit gigs used to feature back when they were held in the Festival Theatre or the Playhouse. I don't recall ever hearing of the compère (John Bishop) before - he looks like a slightly thicker-set and less bewildered version of Bez, sounds like a Scouse version thereof and was generally capable and funny. We'd heard of but never witness Phil Nichol but probably would after his appearance, have seen Simon Amstell at these things before as well as on the telly, have already seen Sarah Millican, wouldn't have rated Dan Antopolski on the strength of previous sightings though perhaps might try him on cheap previews next year and hadn't seen enough Stephen K Amos to be able to pass any opinion though will possibly also consider him next year, assuming his presence as with every year within memory.