I was exceedingly startled to hear that they have sold them all and have orders for at least the same amount again. One mandarin of the industry, described by Nat as a “perky little imp”, even had the perspicacity to foresee a “great future” for Nat within his chosen subgenre. Another company even wanted to press up a further five thousand copies, but Greg is loath to let the record take on its own life and Nat drags along behind him. This may be just as well: I do not like the sound of the scene they are getting into. Nat mentioned something concerning the manager of this record label, “Mouldy Records” or some equally putrid nom de guerre, most of the profits of which go “up his nose”. A drug reference from Nat? Surely not. Certainly his lifestyle is not as ascetic as it once was.

The band have made a lot of good contacts—Nat hates this word, I know not why—through their first disc. Indeed Greg has arranged for them to take part in another concert, their third to date. Things really seem to be happening for Nat at long last! Carried along with his enthusiasm, I let him know that I had had some of my writing accepted.

SUN OCT 4

Nat’s third gig went well. They were an unknown quantity and had to play first to a cold crowd. So much for anarchy. Not surprisingly the audience differed greatly from those of the band’s two previous gigs. It consisted almost entirely of garishly garbed punks. It must be rare for spectators in any arena to be more colourfully clothed than the performers that they have come to see. Consequently cat-calling, cries of “closet cases”, and spitting (which I thought was a sign of approval) ensued, but eventually subsided as the gathering grew more accustomed to the music. A few “punters” had even previously bought the record: someone must have I suppose. The ever- resourceful Greg was actually able to sell numerous retained copies after the act had come to an end.

Nat had circulated hundreds of copies of some of his screed, but these were largely ignored and covered the floor like confetti. This, Nat claimed, was probably because “the rabble couldn’t read”.

“Bitter!” I found myself replying indignantly.