So I’m running late for the gig and I aint in the best of moods, works shit but its work I suppose, the Glastonbury ticket never arrived (couldn’t afford it) and the prospect of facing the fast approaching future in debt and despair is frankly not what I signed up for.

So I get to the gig only to find the girl that I am bringing down as my plus one (long term friend, new found love) is not my plus one because I don’t have a plus one (thanks editor!) so I do whatever self respecting lying cheating scoundrel does and tell her to wait outside while I work my silver tongue magic on the unsuspecting, unsettling and downright unnerving looking women on the door.

‘Your cool as fuck, your cool as fuck, your cool as fuck your cool as fuck’ the mantra in my head repeats over and over until I reach my destination, roll up my sleeves and beam a big beaming grin at the aforementioned dragon. Honestly readers this aint George and the Dragon but Chris and the bitch because she turns me down quicker than a tramp looking for a lap dance. So faced with the option turning up empty handed to my date…. to protect her modesty lets call her…….. Fiona. I swallow my ever demising pride and buy her a ticket. This is all forgotten when I suavely saunter outside holding two tickets to Slow Club at the ICA.

Before I tell you about the gig a word must be said for the ICA and apart from its staffing policy I can’t fault it. It’s perfectly position in the shadow of the palace just on the left as you parade up the mall. The night is one of those perfect summer evening where London just looks beautiful and you forget about crunches and crack heads. So after getting drinks at the bar (pint for me and a white wine for the lady Fact fans) we head into the gig.

Now I hate sweating I find it repulsive and the thought it has just made me gag on my red stripe but I put up with it in certain situations and this is one of them. The walls are sweating tonight but the people inside are just to fucking nice for it to be a problem. Not in a nice Coldplay way but in a way that in every group of mates you have a muso friend (John in mine fact fans) who likes good music and is just an all round nice person. Well every last checked shirted bastard in this place might as well be called John (I shout it to do an impromptu test and three people turned round) and that’s the world Slow club inhabit and its lovely.

They start the gig by coming in from the doors and ripping into the b–side of their new single ‘Wild Blue Milk’ right there in the middle of the floor and those big beaming grins are back but on everyone’s faces not just mine this time. There fucking brilliant Slow Club and I can’t put my finger on why they are but they are, maybe it’s the self deprecating Yorkshire charm, maybe it’s the between song stories of parking fines or maybe, fluff lines or just the tunes. The rollicking and rousing drums of Rebecca and Charles’ guitar strings shuffle just fit and before you know it you’re a signed up soldiers of the Slow Club army.

The reason we are all here tonight varies I imagine, but the main reason is the launch of the single ‘It Doesn’t Have To Be Beautiful’ a great single by a great band and I urge nay, I implore you stop reading this piffle and go and buy it!