Bonnington Square Party

2001-07-08

Bonnington Square is a unique place. In the seventies it was a giant squat of run-down victorian terraces. As years have gone by, the residents have gentrified themselves (I hope they don't mind me using that term), so the area has gone up without being taken over. It still bears the traces of its roots – there is a lot of greenery everywhere, the community garden (where I am playing today) and the smaller garden in the middle of the square have character and personality rather than the way that a designed garden, dropped on a community by planners, would have no personality so as not to offend anyone.

A much smaller occasion than previous Bonnington Square parties I've been to – this is my fourth (or possibly fifth). Usually there has been a big stage up in the square itself (Main Stage 1) and loads of people milling around, and Garden Stage 2 in the... uh... garden. It's this latter that I've usually played, although I filled in on the main stage once, so I've done that. But today, the streets are deserted and the famous Cafe and the corner shop are closed. I can see that this arrangement will be a lot less stressful for residents, as well as a lot less stretched from the entertainments point of view.

I actually prefer it like this – a lot smaller, cosier, more "community". Less of a panic if the heavens open and the rains come pouring down (as happened a couple of years ago).

When I arrive a cajun band are playing, which is a jolly sort of a way to start your afternoon, and then when I'm getting a cup of tea, Breathing Space go on. I wander around the garden while I'm listening to them, humming softly to myself in an attempt to warm up. Five voices all blending and big. I worry for a moment that I have a difficult act to follow, then put it out of my brain with a cheery "Let It Go!" for which I suppose I should thank Jack Kornfield. And then when they're done, it's my turn. Everything is running to schedule, which must be a first for any community festival anywhere in the world, and must be violating some kind of charter.

I remember that I start with Little Games, but where it goes after that remains some kind of blur. I go into some kind of reverie about how it's a good thing that we don't have to make career choices very young in life, or else everyone would plump for Running Around In Circles For No Reason At All for their vocation, or in the case of one little boy, Pulling Trolleys Around.

"Dad, I've decided. I'm going to be a trolley-puller. Jungle animals, probably."

"Oh, son... why can't you just settle for Running Around In Circles For No Reason At All like your brothers?"

"I'm sorry Dad, my mind's made up.There's no stopping me."

So that all goes quite well. It's such a nice gig, that it would be difficult to play it badly. I finish up with the usual Iodine and Comforting Lie combination. The general vibe of time-keeping means that I am in no way tempted to go over my time, and it actually feels right. Honour sufficiency.

And then after me, the oboe band, who play every year and who I have contrived to miss every year so far. It's a nice sound, a lovely sort of baroque thing. Phil Hogg out of Breathing Space points me at the food provided for the musicians and I go and have my fill. Lovely, and a better payment than yer actual money in a lot of ways.

Joe Quillin appears and does an unscheudled appearance, including a cover of Steely Dan's Pretzel Logic and a lot of new stuff, which is groovy.

There are performances by Women's Group (I don't really know what they are called) doing songs dedicated to such subjects as Anne Bonney the famously shy retiring delicate flower.

(My irony there, by the way.)

After them, a chap with a guitar who has been noodling along with them does some numbers in a singalong stylee – May the Circle be Unbroken, Brown-Eyed Girl, that sort of thing. Rousingness.

And then the Latin group to finish off, as well it should.

A small girl sells me a set of Baoding Iron Balls.

It's that sort of an afternoon.