Fantasies and Cancun.

The Malt Cross in Nottingham started life as a Victorian music hall. Thankfully it has survived as such to this day and is a well kept secret in the heart of the city.

‘Ronnie-the-bearded’ and his team of hippie chicks, program the venue and are central to the Moulin Rouge vibe that exudes from every stone within.

We are escorted by a girl who I can only describe as other worldly to floor number one and a half. (Watch your back Mr Malchovitch!)
The stage is a platform between two floors, there is an old upright piano over flowing with empty bottles of beer, set lists, lyrics and sheet music, the wooden floor, (sticky from the night before times a hundred years) is a lattice of uncoiled leads held fast with beer-glue. Everything is dimly lit and reminds me of being in a theatre production. I got butterflies and a chill down my spine for the first time in as long as I can remember. If bohemia made a last stand then here is the battle field.

Ash (the in house engineer) got us set up and we started our first full acoustic set. Being unplugged in such a nostalgic environment made me feel as though I were a part of a musical heritage much wider than I had previously imagined. Tucked away in the corner, under hot, coloured stage lights, I dreamt about Joni Mitchell or John Martin or some other musician who just wanted to play; somewhere way back in the lineage of time when fame was credibility awarded for hard work. The night rolled on by like a well wound pianola. I couldn’t wait to be re-booked even before we had finished the set I was dreaming of coming back.


“Where ever you go (if you look hard enough) you will meet people who you will fall in love with.” I was once told by a girl friend.

Mathew, Sharon India and Gabi fit with that prophecy. They are one of the most beautiful families I’ve ever met; a little oasis hidden in a city. They insisted that we stay with them on that cold November night. As you can imagine, we conceded; very quickly!

I caught a taxi back with India from the town centre. We were chased by a crazy girl who insisted that I was coming home with her even though I had told her that India was my girl friend. (She really scared me.) Once safely back in Sherwood we picked up some take away supper and headed home for an evening of drinking, films and eventually a good nights sleep; in a bed!

Our room is borrowed from Gabi, (the youngest daughter of the family) and is a scene from a teenage fantasy; a fantasy of knowing what it would be like to go to a high school slumber party. (As a girl!) I can’t speak for anyone else but I’ve never felt quite as girly as I did that night; tucked up in pretty patterned bed clothes; a feeling of serenity in the air. (I’m probably being added to some kind of register as you read this.)

The room is pink. It is filled with practical yet dainty lights and mobiles. The air is perfumed (despite us being within it.) I had gone to bed a little before everyone else to write. We had watched True Romance and I had been inspired by it so I set to work writing Cancun. I fall asleep staring at mobile stars which twirl above me. The sound of pop songs and the hum of a lava lamp dilute the night silence as I wonder why I ever left home. Thank you Gabi for a lovely nights sleep and thank you the Malt Cross for a magical evening.

If this band ever makes any money then our first debt is to Mathew’s beer cellar.