Le Grand Depart

'We have to be in London by six o'clock at the latest on Saturday to collect the keys from the gallery,' said Johnny, 'so we must be on our way by one o'clock.'  This impressed me: times and schedules do not sit comfortably with Johnny and his normal response is to ignore them.  I was also delighted because departure time fitted in with my Saturday morning schedule of hair dresser (exhibition prep), so I would be able to attend the great send-off.

All that remained was to fit in the bicycle

The weather was unsympathetic, manifesting miserable - what's new? However, spirits where high and I arrived to find Sam's van packed with paintings.  The final challenge was to find a place for Romas' bicycle.  'Do you ride a bicycle Gill?' Romas had asked me last week, 'I am getting mine in condition for London - we could explore London by bike - yes?'

Not bloody likely.  My style of cycling requires the equivalent of a bus lane, which does not disappear from one traffic light to the next and I don't like myself in helmets. 'No,' I replied.

Where there's a will ...

Good job!

J modelling Yorkshire cricket hat

Team Harrogate

Romas performs Puja for blessing and good fortune

And they were off!

 See you in London!  It's been a fabulous journey.  Much love Johnny,

Gill xxx

Arrivals

Susan, the first of the American party landed tonight, so it was a reunion at the Brasserie for early doors.

'So, Johnny,' Susan enquired, 'how are things going?'
'I've still got four paintings at the framers ...  Romas wrapped thirteen paintings yesterday ... when I get back tonight, I've got to send Sarah the final inventory of paintings going to London ...  I've got so much to do.  It always comes down to me in the end ...

'I've stopped taking my medication - the doctor put me on it  - well, I've been feeling wonky - I have to take three pills - and they're strong the doctor says - I can only take them for a short while.  Anyway, I was feeling grim - drugs always do this to me you know - so I read the instructions on the box.  I was supposed to take one pill, then increase to two and then to three, but I realise that I should have spread them out, not take them all at once.'

Wednesday 4th June

Text this morning from Romas:

'Good morning.  Plan B.  From 11 a.m. I am wrapping Johnny's paintings.  So sorry for short notice, but English lesson cancelled. Yours happy and bless, Romas. Have a good day. Peace.'

Marvellous! I thought, the wrapping is happening!  And, I could do with the extra time - my Grade VIII exam looms on 26th June and I still have, metaphorically speaking, 'five paintings to finish' on the performance front.

Late afternoon, on my way home from job interview, I called in at Johnny's.

'Much wrapped today?'

There was knocking on the Coach House door ...

'Three ...  Romas is so reliable,' there was a significant pause, which heralds a tale. 'I went to bed last night around ten - I'm trying to get as much rest as I can - I must have drifted off, but I was awakened by noise!  Someone was banging on the windows and then there was a loud knocking on the door.

'I got out of bed, not quite with it - you know - opened the door and there was Romas.  It was exactly eleven o' clock. "Hello Johnny!" said  Romas.
"Romas - what are you doing here?"  I enquired.
"Your text - to wrap paintings - 11 p.m.?"
"Let me see," I said.  'Sure enough, I'd typed p.m. instead of a.m. - and he still came!'

This time last year, I wrote, 'Another June arrives and another summer seems to be busy elsewhere.' And it's the same this year (in Harrogate at least): dull, dreary, dismal deluges and f***ing freezing.  I think Noah had the right idea: build a bloody big boat and head for the rainbow.  I am told that in London it is uncomfortably humid just now.  I would like to be humid, it would make a change from damp.

Party night 13th June

Paul Middleton and the Angst Band

And then along came Margaret Thatcher

If you like music that is irreverent, uncompromising and from the heart, then allow me to introduce you to Johnny’s brother Paul: a Yorkshire, craggy diamond. If you like your music delivered with unrestrained abandon, in an explosion of sound, words and passion, then he is your man.

Since 1967, singer-songwriter Paul has been entertaining in his adopted home town of Harrogate, as well as the wider world. Delivering his own lyrics in a gravelly, bourbon-soaked voice that wells from his soul, he sings of trials and tribulations in love, life and death.  His performance is expressed in an explosion of sound and emotion, which at times teeters on the fringes of mania, as his hands coerce the frenzied voice from his slide steel guitar.  Pied Piper like, he leads his Angst band and audience to the edge of the cliff as guitars soar, drums throb and xylophones pulse in a heady fusion of rock and blues, laced with Yorkshire grit and humour that cracks faces and releases tensions.

So what motivates this sixty-seven year old, former member of Harrogate’s successful 70s Prog-Rock band Wally, to continue writing and performing several nights a week?  Most of his contemporaries hung their guitars up years ago, whilst he has worn his into holes.

Off stage, it is hard to reconcile Paul’s extrovert, abandoned performances with this softly spoken, self-deprecating man.  ‘To pay the rent I make cupboards, but my passion is to put my thoughts into a musical context.  I am not a musician,’ he insists, ‘and I can’t call myself a poet either – I just have a desire to express myself – it has always helped me find out who I am – it still does.’

During the 90s, Paul started performing at the Blues Bar in Harrogate and has been entertaining across the UK and Europe since. Over time, both he and his band have metamorphosed into the present Angst Band, whose musicians provide an expressive platform for Paul’s individuality.

So, if you like a performance that’s original, honest, up front and personal then join the maestro and his musicians at the Brewdog for End of Exhibition Party night on a journey into his world of bad love, good times and full-on living.  Not for the faint-hearted: do you dare to love, laugh, cry and maybe, even find yourself dancing?

Paul Middleton performs every Wednesday from 9.30pm at the Blues Café Bar, Montpellier Parade, Harrogate.

For details of bookings see his website: www.paulmiddleton.com

John Middleton
London Exhibition

Monday 9th June - Friday 13th June 2014

THE CONINGSBY GALLERY
30 Tottenham Street
London
W1T 4RJ
Tel 020 7637 7478
www.coningsbygallery.com

End of exhibition party night
PAUL MIDDLETON'S ANGST BAND
Friday 13th June
At:
BREWDOG Shoreditch
51-55 Bethnal Green Road
London E1 6LA
www.brewdog.com/bars/shoreditch



See you there!

The final week

At early doors on Thursday, there was quite a crowd.  'How's it going Clive?'  I asked.
'Well, it's done - the invitations have been sent out, the catalogue is printed.  I'm feeling quite calm ...'
'I've got five more paintings that are almost finished - some might be ready in time,' chipped in Johnny.

Nobody said anything ...

On Saturday afternoon, I squeezed in to the Studio through an alley of paintings.  'I got all these back from Stephen Neale's yesterday,' reported a semi-recumbent Johnny,   'When I saw them all together, I realised that I have finished!  I don't need to do any more!  I'm just going to relax now.'

A shadow flitted past the window, something white and voluminous parked outside the door and a bicycle bell rang. 'That'll be Romas with the bubblewrap,' said Johnny.











'Johnny,' said Romas, 'we can start wrapping now!'
'I'm not feeling up to it right now,' replied Johnny.
'That's OK,' encouraged our effervescent Lithuanian, 'you tell me what needs doing and I'll do it!'

I left them to it.

'Any progress wrapping?' I enquired of Johnny on Saturday evening.
'No,' he replied. 'I'm enjoying being finished.  My computer blew up you know.  I think it's alright now - we hoovered it - this is how to deal with modern technology.'

Finished in Havana heaven

It was a peculiar evening.  Johnny doesn't hear well and was mumbling particularly effectively.  'I can't understand what you're saying,' admonished Marta.
'That's because you're Spanish,' replied Don Quixote.
'And I can't hear you either Johnny,' I said in support.
'That's because you weren't listening.'

And then Paul joined in - he can't hear well either.  'Stan,' he said, 'bearing in mind that you're going deaf and I'm going deaf, I haven't heard a word you've said all night.'
'I didn't hear any of it,' said Stan.