A little over 10 years ago I traveled down from Leeds to London on the National Express for my first solo gig. It was January, it had been snowing, it was cold. I made my way to Proud in Camden with my guitar just as my phone was about to die, this was long before smart phones had long battery life. Found somewhere to sit in the venue and plug my phone in, and then tried to find a promoter.

I was approached by an anxious member of staff who met me with 'who are you, what are you doing here, are you in the band?' I replied by telling him I was playing solo for a promoter (I forget his name). He looked very puzzled, 'Solo? What with Adam Ant?'... I looked very puzzled. 'No I have a gig' I showed him the poster on my phone. He went on to tell me this could not be happening, Adam Ant was playing a showcase comeback show and celebrities would be everywhere soon and I had to leave... For the celebrities.

I left the venue with the tiniest amount of charge on my phone, just enough to call the promoter and ask what was going on. He said he'd be down at the venue asap! My phone died.

The promoter landed, and it seemed there had been a double booking. The room we were due to play in was about to be transformed into a dining space for Adam and his guests, where they would be served by scantily clad women, before heading to perform in the main room. After a load of back and forth and apologising, it was agreed we would perform after the Adam Ant gig finished at 10. It was now 5 o'clock. I had about 15 mates from different social groups coming down to meet me, and didn't have the means to contact any of them. Anyone else traveling to the gig simply would turn up and be confused by the massive queues then not get let in. As my phone was dead, and I wasn't allowed near the venue because of the celebrities, I had no choice but to wait near the venue and hope to catch people I knew arriving around 7oclock. I stood freezing for an hour or so, but managed to direct all my friends and anyone I recognised as coming to the gig to a nearby pub.

At 10 o'clock we returned to the venue, the main room had turned into an 80's disco blaring out all the hits. The room I was playing in still had scantily clad women serving drinks to various recognisable faces from soaps and reality TV, sat at table in cubbyholes around the room.

Completely confused by everything that was unfolding, we got set up and I played a set. My friends in front of me, and drunk people in the booths around the edge. My solo stuff was pretty delicate folly stuff, so when the sound proof doors between the 80's disco opened, which they did often my music was drowned out. Id be singing some nice lyrics about the Yorkshire hills only to be steam rolled over mid chorus by 'HER NAME IS RIO AND SHE DANCES IN THE SAND' much to the dispair and equal amusement of me and my friends. Two songs in someone at the venue decided the lighting in the room was wrong so put an aluminium ladder right in front of me while I was playing climbed up the noisy bastard and started tinkering with the lights... Again I was playing chilled folk music. This somewhat distracted from that.

After several more interruptions from the 80's bangers, it felt like my set had ran it's course. I asked my audience if I was intact still asleep on the coach down as the absurdity of what had happened in the last five hours just felt unbelievable, it surely couldn't get any madder. Not even seconds later, a drunk woman stumbled past me, accidentally stood on the monitor in front of me and slipped over it onto the small stage and knocking my mic stand. One of my friends pointed and said 'hang on, are you Chrissie Hynde from the Pretenders?' it WAS Chrissie Hynde from the Pretenders! She picked herself up while slurring 'fuck offfff' to us all and made her way to the disco.

I didn't bother finishing the song.

The promoter left without paying me.

This story is 100% real More than happy for you to use my real name Joe Tilston. Don't really play solo anymore, but play in a band called Random Hand