A Guildford Rock-Til-You-Drop: What's the worst that could happen?

Something like this.

You are being dropped close to the venue by a family friend at whose house you are staying the night, after the gig. It's 5:20pm. You've missed a mobile call from the singer from the second band on the bill. As you walk, you listen to his message which informs you that he has just received a call from the headline act to say they may have to cancel their performance due to the hospitalisation of their drummer's son. Having had a band cancel a gig on you the night before, you feel you can take this in your stride. You keep moving, as if nothing has happened. You will deal with it like a mature musician, and promoter, and improvise if necessary. No need to worry yet, though.

You reach the club and make a call to the headline act who put an end to any doubt about their possible cancellation. Thankfully, the second band on the bill are able to rustle up there own backline at the drop of a hat, to replace the one that they were due to borrow, that ain't now coming.

You are a band down. This will obviously affect attendance. But how much? The headline act say they have already informed their fanbase that they will not be playing (that was quick-Ed), so it is unlikely that any of their supporters will show up and be disappointed.

You discuss the situation with the venue promoter and during this conversation you suggest that maybe you should do an impromptu acoustic set to plug the gap in the bill now that the two remaining bands have been upgraded to first and executive class respectively.

You sit down with the house electro-acoustic and run through a 6 or 7 song set, remembering some words that you haven't sung for a while, and making some notes. Soundcheck goes smoothly and doors open. It's 7:30pm. People though, are not queuing at the door. A couple in their 70s or 80s walk in. I welcome them and give them a programme. One down - ninety-nine to go (programmes, that is). They sit down at a table under the sound desk directly in front of the stage.

A few minutes later, a few people, somewhere between, 3 and 5, enter the venue, and proceed to sit in the beer garden.

The room is still virtually empty. At 8:00, discovering that the club's electro-acoustic isn't working, you borrow a Fender Strat and take a seat on stage to play a few songs. Fearing how the afore mentioned couple will react at the sound of a heavy metal band playing 20 feet away from their table, you feel it is even more important that you perform at least a handful of songs that they can take away with them, when they are blown out of the room by the first band on. Songs that at least they will be able to hear the words of, if not fully comprehend them. It is a Story of Anvil moment. There is pathos in the air, and a sadness in the room which transforms happy songs into sad ones. But after a shaky start and a couple of fluffed chords you start to relax into the performance and even begin to enjoy yourself, relishing another opportunity to sing through a decent size PA.

Unable to afford to travel with your loyal MC 'Dove Jones', you are also forced to do the MCing yourself. It is not your forte. But in rehearsal on the train you imagine at least 20-30 people in front of you when you make your first announcement. This is not the reality.

To break even on the night, you need 45 people through the door. This, in your mind is what you expect at the very least, being that these are local bands, two of which are playing Guilfest, and the other which is always assuring you of its popularity and the success of its gigs. Since they have cancelled, your expectation has been shot to bits. All you know now, is that you are a band down, and there is no bugger here. And being that this isn't the Dublin Castle with its conveyor belt of bands and fans, there is unlikely to be a hoard of fans waiting in a nearby pub to arrive closer to the time that their favourite local band is on. This is Guildford, you'd think this gig would be in people's diaries and they would be here on time to get value for money and to see a couple of bands they didn't know.

You announce the first band, they play. At some point the elderly couple leave. You introduce the second band, and they play. Well. To an imaginery audience. During their sets, you dread to count the number of people in the venue. So you don't. You think about crying, but you don't.

You have clearly over-estimated the interest of local mature music fans and musicians in lcoal bands that continue to play original material. In the concept of Rock-Til-You-Drop. You have clearly overlooked the fact that "Wednesday is not a good night", not in Guildford, anyway. You have clearly deluded yourself somewhat. You are now brought down to size. The last busy Dublin Castle gig has been replaced in your memory by this. You are now not returning to your old stamping ground, triumphant, as you had hoped. Instead, you have returned unnoticed (Thank fuck-Ed). And now you wish you weren't staying the night here, but that you could leave tonight and wake up in London like it was all a bad dream.

You cannot.