Irrepressible Rage

So last Thursday I returned to the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen, this time with Seb, to go and see The Irrepressibles and hopefully improve my opinion of the venue after the disastrous Dinosaur Pile-Up gig, which I'm sure you've all read my review of!. But no, I'm now convinced that the HSB&K is cursed (possibly with a rare type of curse that causes it to be full of twats, but more on that later), which is just as well, given how much I dislike the area. This gig was actually postponed from the day of snow, which adds further credence to my theory.

So what went wrong this time, I hear you ask. Well the first time I was due to go on the gig I had been put on the guestlist so I could review it for thisisoffset, another fine website I am proud to write for. So this time the guestlist place was set up again (albeit under one of the editor's names) and thus at gigtime I strolled up to the front desk only to find that they had no record of said name on the guestlist, the girl at the front door was extremely rude, and the promoter had no idea who offset were. This despite someone from the promoters asking if Selfish Cunt and a load of other bands could play at the offset festival in the original email.

I won't go into too much detail about what the girls said: suffice to say they accused me of trying to blag my way in and were generally rude and uncooperative. It was my first experience being on a guestlist and whilst I was maybe a bit naive they made me feel stupid and small, and I really didn't appreciate that. I sent an email to the editor and I hope he understands, but he hasn't replied yet and I'm worried he'll be mad at me for whatever reason, which would just be fucking perfect. I did consider finding an internet cafe, printing off the email exhange, and then going back to wave it under their noses at least to salvage my pride. But we couldn't find one and the evening was already sullied by this point.

So yeah that put me in a bit of a grump for the rest of the evening (and I'm still a bit moody about it now), and the grump wasn't much alleviated by a visit to the usually excellent Cellar Door on The Strand. Although the cocktails were good the cabaret was simply dreadful, consisiting, as it did, of drunken city types singing along to poorly done "mashups". I don't know which was worse, the awfully-dressed guy shouting along to "Wild Thing" when it was clear that the title was the only lyric he knew, or the cockernee knees-up version of "My Way", which was basically Bill Bailey but much less funny.

So yeah, I've had better evenings.