Week 39

Week 39 – Friday 30^th September – The Subways – Sin City, Swansea – £12.00

“I wish we’d gone to Bristol instead. . .”

As we waited for a delayed train to Swansea, Sandro was already showing the first signs of regret. It was the last day of the month so we had left it late to leave the city limits. Most of our options had been on the wrong side of the Severn Bridge, but the likes of Fenech-Soler, Angelic Upstarts and Ruarri Joseph had failed to tempt us abroad and we instead travelled to Wales’ second city.

The Subways gave us a reason to head west for the first time this year and visit Swansea. The only reason in fact. Not that I'm bitter about them having a Premier League side. Bastards.

The weather was beautiful and the sun was shining, with temperatures reaching their highest of the summer. It was the perfect weather for a train journey.

Sandro’s second thoughts were brought on by a short delay and a platform change at the station. A train had arrived in good time, but an announcement over the PA advised people not to approach it.

A chilling bilingual voice declared that it was: “not for public use/nid yw at pwblic usiau” and repeated the message several times.

 “Does that mean we’re not supposed to board that train then?” I overheard a young lad say in a thick West Walian accent nearby.

One of the station’s attendants then charged along the platform, barking the message loudly to a curious would-be passenger. The voice of the PA came to life once more to clarify the position.

“The train to Milford Haven will now be leaving from platform 3a. The train at platform 4a is not for public use. Please, for f-, I mean for Goodness sake, do not approach it!/ Bydd y trên i Aberdaugleddau awr yn cael ei adael o 3a llwyfan. Nid oedd y trên yn 4a platfform ar gyfer pwblic usiau. Os gwelwch yn dda, am f-, yr wyf yn ei olygu i mwyn Goodness, peidiwch dull mae'n!”

Strange that he stuttered in English and Welsh. I’m not sure that the announcer could speak Welsh at all, you know.

 “Is this the Milford Haven train then?” the West Walian accented lad asked me moments later at platform 3a. 

 “No,” I replied good-naturedly, and directed him to platform 4a.

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Aboard the correct train Sandro convinced me to trade a few cans of Magners for some beans. 

“But I don’t even like beans!” I protested initially.

“These are magic beans.” Sandro replied, holding them out.

“Really?” I asked in wonder.

“Yes, really.”

“What makes them magic? They just look like soggy baked beans, covered in dirt and fluff to me.” I asked him.

“That’s because a homeless man gave them to me. They originally came from far away though. They make you more intelligent,” Sandro Said, “and less gullible.”

“Wow!” I replied in amazement.

“So, three beans for two cans okay?” Sandro offered.

“How about four beans?” I replied. 

“I’ll give you four beans, if you give me four cans. . .” Sandro responded.

“Deal!” I agreed. 

Aside from bean haggling, we kept our heads down as best we could. The Jacks can smell a Cardiff accent, and it’s not a smell they’re fond of. In fact, I believe they describe it as “buzzin’.” We managed to escape the attentions of the ‘fake-tanned ones’ and infiltrated their homeland at around seven o’clock.

The gig was at a venue called Sin City which was hitherto unknown to us. Having gone to the painstaking lengths of googling it, it looked a straightforward walk less than a mile from the station. Half an hour later, we were on the famous Wind Street, which was nowhere near where we wanted to be.

After a bit of circular backtracking we found an information point and examined a map. It seemed so simple. We couldn’t have been more than a few hundred meters away. It looked like we’d just made one wrong turn. Relieved, we set off in the correct direction.

Ten minutes later we were back on Wind Street scratching our heads. I’m sure I have a degree in Geography. Nearly an hour after we’d arrived in Swansea, we finally found the venue, and the Wetherspoons opposite it.

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After a pint and some food in The Potter’s Wheel we crossed the road to Sin City. Supporting band The Computers, who Sandro had seen during Camden Crawl, were already playing. They were a loud bunch whose front-man enjoyed talking more than singing. Sandro (renowned for being irritable) found him entertaining, whereas I (renowned for being irritating) thought he was a bit of a prat. Fortunately, that’s one of my favourite characteristics in a front-man.

By that point it was pretty busy and there appeared to be plenty of students present (you could tell they were students because they paid for their drinks with coins).  Many gathered their shocked young faces in a circle around The Computers’ singer who’d disembarked from the stage with his guitar in hand.  Having witnessed Tim Harrington live, I was unfazed as he bustled about inches in front of me, staring wild eyed and strumming his guitar furiously.

“Playing the guitar is easy isn’t it?” he said above the din. I tried to tell him that he shouldn’t be so modest and that his parents would be proud, but I don’t think he heard me. He clambered aboard the shoulders of one of the beanstalk like gentleman nearby, but may have regretted doing so when he found himself being whisked around the room. His antics made for a pretty good spectacle, although I couldn’t possibly remember how any of their songs went.

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At 9:30 The Subways were still nowhere to be seen and Sandro and I were beginning to get anxious about our travel arrangements. The last train to Cardiff was at 10:32 and our contacts (P. Mushy) had revealed that there were no later buses. Amazingly, it seems the people of Swansea aren’t especially desperate to leave.

I didn’t particularly want to share a room at a Travelodge with Sandro (though he was keen) and our pleas to friends and family for a lift were ignored, with nobody interested in making the two hour round trip to collect us, which was baffling.

The Subways clearly weren’t aware of our predicament, but eventually appeared on stage to do their thing. Their set was almost identical to what we’d witnessed at The Globe a few months earlier. Thankfully the venue wasn’t quite as sweaty, though it was still moist enough to leave me cursing my choice of jeans and woolly underwear.

The crowd was as enthusiastic and energetic as we’ve come to expect at a Subways gig, jumping around to the likes of ‘Oh Yeah’ and ‘Young For Eternity’. Their signature tune ‘Rock & Roll Queen,’ was unleashed midway through their set, which was handy as sadly we were doomed to depart early. No doubt we missed two or three more songs, and likely a stage dive from Billy the front-man too, but the Jacks had smelt the blood of two Cardiffians, so we had to escape before it was too late.

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We left Sin City and walked to the end of the road before heading off in different directions.

“It’s this way isn’t it?” I called to Sandro, resisting the temptation to let him disappear into the night.

“No. It’s clearly this way,” Sandro replied impatiently. “Isn’t it?”

It was 10:20, so we didn’t really have time for another tour of Swansea.

Fortunately, Swansea was as keen to get rid of us as we were to leave it, and right on cue, a Taxi arrived. The driver sped through the mean streets, whizzing by angry drunken women and men in short skirts as he went.

We were delivered to the station with five minutes to spare. Worryingly though, the door to the train was blocked. 

Standing in our way, was a huge, beast of a man.

He was tall, tanned, and was wearing a rugby kit. He looked keen to smash us to pieces, but didn’t look the brightest and his legs had clearly been shaved.

“Fee, fi, fo, fum! Yes, it’s me, Gavin Henson.”

I knew I shouldn’t have eaten those magic beans.

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September

3-9 - Willy Mason - ✓
10-16 - Toots & The Maytals - ✓
17-23 - Little Comets - ✓
24-30 -The Subways - ✓