remote cards

There is a guy who sits and plays the drums in the streets, you see him all the time. Coloured bloke, with those African kind of drums that you slap. He sits poised on the ground, the two drums between his legs as he batters out rhythms, a cloth stretched out in front of him, held in place by two bottles of water. One of the best drummers in the city, it is always nice to hear him playing, a sound you can spot from a distance away. Today as I approach, there is a little girl, maybe about 4, in a summer dress, with white tights, long black hair. She is dancing, full of joy, a couple of feet in front of the drummer, she spins and claps, and just loves the sound and her motion. Her mum stands another few feet away, watching and smiling, and in general people slow to watch, and you can see the smiles spread, the happiness at seeing this little girl’s delight.

Labels: dance, drum, girl, glasgow

The book shop stays open later than most other places, so it attracts all kinds of transients, people waiting for people, people waiting for other things to open, people just after books, or coffee. They play music, like a lot of places, just that background stuff. Tonight its gone from the Beatles to Bill Withers, “There ain’t no sunshine when she gone” he sings, or something like that. Two teenage girls stop in the middle of the store and start to dance, quite full on, waving their arms around, shuffling round each other, grinning and laughing. Four other boys and girls appear from the back of the shop to catch up with them and the girls shrug as the group continues to make its way through the shop. But they can’t resist waving their arms round each others shoulder and doing a semi-conga as they go.

Labels: book, coffee, dance, girl, glasgow

It is funny to see them afterwards. Recognising them with their clothes on. The girl, with the short hair, now in a black top, with a plunging neckline and jeans. Beside her, the girl with the shoulder length hair, the one that had been fully topless at one point, rather than just transparent, the one that had played the drums – she wears a yellow t-shirt, a brown long sleeved beneath that. They pass below us, as we sit on the mezzanine floor, on their way to the bar post-show. One of the pony tailed girls appears from the passage leading to back stage, in one hand a bulging luggage bag, in the other a fat polythene bag fit for bursting. They open the door to Tramway 1 for her, and she puts them just inside, and skips off to find the other girls. As she goes by, I can see she has her lip pierced, and I know that it was her mouth, amongst all those mouths, that we had seen on the screen with the lip ring. The guy that did the first version of the show’s monologue wanders about - masturbation, suicide, orgasm, murder, enjoyment – as broad shouldered and muscled as he had been, the t-shirt he wears now equally snug against his torso. Then there is the guy with the Mohawk, who is more obvious, a turquoise blue v-neck t-shirt, a chain around his neck. The first time we saw him he was in heels and a dress, Mohawk and lipstick. When asked which dancer I thought had the best legs I said it was him, absolutely, no doubt. He stands by himself, leaning against a pillar, tired, a little lost perhaps, cradling a glass of white whine. Though, soon, he has three girls around him engaging him in conversation. Its not long before the place starts to empty. The drummer girl is retrieving her bags, pulling on her jacket. The Mohawk bloke is peeling one of the event posters from the wall, rolling it up, I’ll donate it to the company he calls out to a member of staff. We put our jackets on, and leave, the drummer girl is talking to a taxi driver, walks back in, passing us, a woollen hat on her head, earthy coloured, with a flower stitched on to it. We leave, she chases up the rest of her group.

Labels: audience, bar, dance, glasgow, theatre