venta

On Sunday, I went to sit in a damp, chilly playground in Brixton.

ChrisC and I had a bright idea that, on the way to Brixton, we'd stop at Borough market and get something exciting for dinner. Maybe as you read this you're thinking "But Venta, Borough Market isn't open on a Sunday!"

Yes. We know that now.

So we looked a bit crestfallen, and got on a bus to Brixton. On arrival, Brixton turned out to be full of shouty people. Shouty people who shout with their mouths full, to boot. We kept on walking, and heading up to Brockwell Park.

Y'see, ChrisC had found a tiny article in some terrible rag advertising "Stuart Silver's Ukelele Orchestra". Surely it wouldn't be that Stuart Silver, oddball comedian and half of Noble and Silver? A bit of internet-waggling and we'd established that it was that Stuart Silver. We're very curious people, so that was enough to propel us up to the Pipe and Slippers Festival in Brockwell Park.

When we showed up, the festival seemed to consist of about three people and half a dog listening to some really rather bad poetry. In a playground. We acquired tea and cake from the nearby café and hovered rather uncertainly outside, wondering what on earth we'd let ourselves in for. The poet was superceded by a guy reading a very average extract from his upcoming novel. And suddenly going to sit in a damp playground in Brixton didn't seem like a very good idea after all.

Still, we were there, so we coughed up our five pounds and went in just as a jazz-dance display began; it was followed by an intermission and the organiser dished out coloured chalk so people could draw dogs on the asphalt.

Another couple of novel extracts from a local novelist, and then the guy the program described as "uncategorisable" took the stage. Wes White actually had me in tears laughing for a large part of the time he was on stage. He did something I've always vaguely intended to do: took the English half of a foreign language phrasebook and used the phrases (in order) to form the dialogue of a story. It was funny, though not as funny as his version of the Glastonbury Festival guide in which he'd replaced almost all the nouns with one of sex, drugs, music or mud. The latter really was far, far funnier than it had any right to be - maybe it was all in the delivery. He was followed by the music of Alice Gun, who was splendid, and I suddenly realised rather to my surprise that I was enjoying myself immsensely.

The rest of the afternoon rather sped by in a haze of further readings, music and weirdness. Stuart Silver's Ukelele Orchestra turned out quite minimalist - only him on stage. He believes the rest of the orchestra exist, he just hasn't met them yet, but we were assured that they were probably playing along wherever they were. He reminded me a little of the League Against Tedium... against the background of quite skilled ukelele-noodling he kept up a constant stream of one-liners, non-sequiturs, little stories and occasionally genuinely thought-provoking remarks. I lay on my back on my nice tartan blanket and watched the grey clouds sailing overhead as I listened. Citizen Helene and the Racists closed proceedings at 6pm with some ambitious if occasionally slightly shaky harmonies. It started to chuck it down about 6:15 :)

So, for five pounds that's an afternoon's entertainment, two interesting new bands and a new uncategorisable comedian discovered. Oh, and the organiser came round handing out cake (I got a lemon fondant fancy). And I drew a dog (rather badly) in blue chalk, and got overly excited when the intermission-DJs played the likes of Kimya Dawson and Herman Dune.

Hurrah for Pipe and Slippers.