Get Your Lardy Arse Out the Door

Yesterday should have been a complete write-off.

The hottest day of the year. Amber weather warnings threatening to turn red. Rail services collapsing in slow motion. My wife sensibly decided that spending an evening travelling around London in temperatures around 35 degrees wasn’t her idea of fun (and she was off working early in the morning too and didn’t want to get stranded – god bless our rail network).

To be honest, it wasn’t sounding much like my idea of fun either.

I spent most of the morning looking at train apps and weather forecasts, trying to convince myself that staying at home was the sensible option. Every time I checked, another train seemed to be cancelled, delayed or diverted. The logistics were becoming ridiculous. Three separate train journeys to get to a small gig in London.

Scotland were playing Brazil at 11pm. A neighbour had already invited me round to watch the match. There was a cold drink, a comfortable chair and a perfectly reasonable excuse not to go.

When I mentioned my doubts to my old mate JJ, he was having none of it.

“Get your lardy arse up to London. I managed to survive ‘76.”

As the day went on, the temperature climbed beyond that.

By mid-afternoon I had a headache, I was sweaty, uncomfortable and still unconvinced. Then I had one of those moments that probably happens less seldom that it should for all of us. I stopped looking for reasons not to go - and simply decided to go.

So I sensibly donned a hat and walked to the station in the roaring heat. Local train to Reading. ‘Fast’ (not fast) train to London - one of a very small number going anywhere at any speed. London underground (oh my, my lardy ass was getting fried right there). More walking. More heat.

And it turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve made in weeks.

First there was some time with child 2, Flora. Since she’s moved to London we don’t see nearly as much of each other as we’d like, so grabbing a beer together and having a proper laugh felt like a gift.

Then JJ arrived and the three of us spent the next hour putting the world to rights, talking about life, work, public services and everything in between. And laughing. A lot.

After that, JJ and I headed to The Water Rats.

If you’ve never been, it’s exactly the sort of venue that reminds you why live music matters. Small. Intimate. No distractions. No giant screens. No corporate hospitality. Just artists, songs and an audience.

Bella Collins, the support act, was excellent. (So good that I’ve already invited her onto The Third Half!)

Then Anna Howie walked on stage.

Now, I should declare an interest. Anna was the very first Musician of the Month on The Third Half, so I’ve been a fan for a while – she is a brilliant human. But if anything, last night exceeded expectations.

There couldn’t have been more than fifty people in the small intimate room, yet from the moment she started singing she held every single person there. Not through volume or theatrics, but through sheer presence. Some performers command attention because they’re loud. Anna commands attention because she’s authentic.

Her music sits somewhere between country and Americana, but that’s only part of the story. What really sets her apart is her songwriting. She notices things. Small details. Everyday moments. Relationships. Conversations. The things most of us walk past without a second thought. Then she somehow turns them into songs that feel deeply personal and completely universal at the same time.

The humour is there, of course. Anna has a wonderfully mischievous streak and a knack for making an audience laugh. But what had me pinned down last night was the emotional depth beneath it all. Behind the cheeky smile and the playful observations are songs about love, loss, hope, disappointment and the complicated business of being human.

The best writers tell the truth, even when they’re disguising it as entertainment. Anna does that exceptionally well.

For an hour and a quarter she had me and JJ completely engrossed. No checking phones. No trips to the bar. No wandering attention. Just listening.

In an age where we’re all supposedly consuming more content than ever, that’s a surprisingly rare thing.

Anna connected effortlessly with the room. The songs were wonderful, the musicianship superb, but it was the storytelling, the emotion. Every song felt like an invitation into a moment, a memory or an observation that mattered to her and, by the end of it, somehow mattered to all of us as well.

It was one of the finest gigs I’ve seen in the last year.

Then came the journey home. More trains. More heat. More delays.

I arrived back just in time to catch the second half of Scotland’s match.

Scotland lost 3-0.

Not every part of the evening was perfect.

But here’s the thing. If I’d stayed at home, I’d have missed all of it. The beer with Flora. The laughs with JJ. The discovery of a brilliant support act. One of the best live performances I’ve seen in a long time.

Sometimes perseverance sounds far too grand a word. Nobody crossed an ocean. Nobody climbed a mountain. I just got on a train.

But life has a habit of rewarding the people who occasionally make the effort when it would be easier not to.

If you get the chance to see Anna Howie live, take it. https://www.annahowiemusic.com/

And if you’re sitting at home wondering whether you can really be bothered to go somewhere, see someone or do something you’ve been looking forward to, remember the wise words (sic) of my old mucker JJ…

‘Get your lardy arse out the door’.

You never quite know what you’re going to find when you get there.

People. Planet. Progress.