Fem-Dom and F**tb*ll

The way to handle pre-gig nerves, is to have a FAP meet-up beforehand, with loads of Strawberry Beer and discussion of Forest Pine's Hobby and random fits of laughter about the concept of Custard Subsidence. (Not sure if I can even explain this... something about having custard wrestling in your back garden, and how to dispose of the evidence.) There was f**tb*ll going on in the main pub, but the garden at the back was deserted, so we had a peaceful and lovely afternoon in the pub, as Ed discussed his cunning plan to make Emsk a Pirate Queen so we could get canal boats whenever we wanted.

Went to the NHAC as the match was ending, blinded by the near total darkness of the venue, but in the murky gloom, I just about saw the dim outline of... KISSY CHRISSIE!!! fresh off a plane from Texas, almost incoherent with jet lag and whiskey. Cue much shrieking and jumping up and down and hugging and then babbling catch-up. Only for us to have to hush when Pagan Wanderer Lu came on. However, by three songs in, we were captivated by his gorgeous pop.

There was definitely a kind of a theme to the evening, aside from the obvious (yeah, yeah, single release party) - and one that I'm not sure how we fit in with. Blokes sitting at tables full of lo-fi electronic gear singing witty casiopop songs. I did actually enjoy all the other bands (which is pretty unusual for me) - especially Napoleon IIIrd, who AMP has been raving about for ages.

But when I started {Fermat's Femmes}, that was the dilemma I was faced with. The songs were created by one girl, sitting by herself at a table with a load of gear. But I just couldn't stomach the idea of going onstage like that, I wanted harmonies and singing and dancing and girliness to counterbalance my geekiness. So it was interesting to see how other artists dealt with this quandry. Tim Ten Yen dances about like a mad robot (The Singing Salaryman) while Napoleon relies on the coolness of his tapereels - and also the sheer raving, wibbling beauty of his music - to carry the show, and it works.

Anyway, yeah. Our set. No soundcheck (which was entirely our fault for not wanting to hang around all afternoon) so the stage sound was a bit erratic. However, what we lacked in sound, we more than made up for in energy, bouncing around, new dances and new songs. We all had matching individual bottles of pink wine, with our names on them. I saved mine - hope the others did, too.

For once I managed to get through a set with no serious f*ck-ups. I debuted a fuller sound, with more pedals - both distortion and overdrive, and the brand new V-Wah. Which was nice, because Frances came up to me after the gig and was all "Wow, you're a really good guitarist, I don't know if anyone ever tells you that, and they should" which made me really glow because no, people don't usually tell me that, and yes, I do need to hear it occasionally.

Time stood still, it's weird when that happens onstage, when go manage to get into The Zone and stay there for the whole set, so you have no idea afterwards what happened, except for tiny glimpses of moments like the whole audience errupting into dancing as we finished up with Noyfriend.

Got utterly rat-arsed by the end of the evening. I have vague memories of buttonholing Napoleon IIIrd and demanding to collaborate with him, though, surprisingly, he seemed quite taken with the idea of mailing Cubase files back and forth to one another.

Managed to avoid getting into a major row with {Lou Liverlust} mainly through repeating the phrase "talk to our manager". It's kinda shit that things are sour between us. I'm never again doing anything with a record company where we can't just go to the pub and have a quiet talk about stuff. But even though both of us go into conversations with the best of intentions, just something about both of us seems to rub the other one the wrong way, and it turns into a pissing competition if not outright argument.

Wandered around Notting Hell for ages trying to find a pub, then I had the best falafal I've had in years (lord knows, I'll never find the place again). Stumbled home on the nightbus incapacitated. I found evidence of my efforts to sober myself up the next morning (pot noodle and 7-Up) but I've been ruined all day. It was worth it, though, for such a great evening. Hurrah!