Nowt As Twisted As Folk In Finchley

It's got a lot to do with the way
her orange "access-all-areas" wristband
clashes sharply with her peppermint green nurse's dress.
She plays melodian
and star-shaped tambourine
and thunderbox
and electronic butterfly.
She also sings here and there for good measure.
Like a kind of Kings Of Convenience
meets Lemon Jelly
meets Ozric Tentacles,
to my knowledge
Tunng are the only band who've ever managed
to namecheck the Little Chef franchise
in a ballad sung
from the persepective of a murdered ex-lover.
Nothing exciting ever happens in Finchley.
So states the famous old adage.
And I should know;
I've lived on the wrong side of the North Circular
for getting on 9 years now.
Tonight, however, has proven itself to be the exception to the rule.
For tonight, the cream
of the British "neu-folk" scene have lugged their
auto-harps
and harmoniums
and dulcimers
and zithers
and acoustic pick-ups
across the Rubicon to warm our Northern cockles.
I bump into a couple of fellow college alumni by chance,
watch a friend from my distant schooldays play through a fever,
and make sure that Barbarossa catches himself the right bus home.
Now whereabouts in these godforsaken parts
can a man hope to find himself a half-decent lamb shish
and a bottle of Australian root beer at this time of night?
Stick close to me my friend, you're in safe hands.

www.twistedfolk.com