Showin' much flex when it's time to wreck a mic

This is a busy weekend. Last evening, Gloucester’s historic Guildhall hosted the lovable beat combo, Young Knives. The Loughborough anti-hipsters set their stall out early with a bracing brace of belters; cranking the amps up to eleven, the wry indie-rockists bombarded an earnest gathering with a bewitching Terra Firma and then, to unbridled glee, a charismatic rendering of The Decision. The set, a mixture of firm favourites and newer treats, proved entertaining although the traditional onstage banter between the waspish vocalist Henry Dartnall and his portly brother, ‘The House of Lords’, was difficult to hear because of poor sound quality. I thank K of deepest Kingsholm for the above photograph of the band's affable bassist. Remarkably, it was taken on a telephone. Whatever next?

I viewed, via a telecast, earlier this afternoon, the noble Gloucester team defeat the acclaimed Neath/Swansea Ospreys in a tremendously exciting rugby football match. The occasion was the semi-final of the Anglo-Welsh EDF Cup. Despite the Welsh outfit dominating possession and, to an extent, territory, my favoured team defended stoutly and, importantly, took the points when offered. The final score, 17-0 to the self-styled cherry-and-whites, must be saluted. Not only was victory attained against a side brimming with world class internationals but the black-clad Celts failed to trouble the scorers. I salute all concerned. ‘The lads’ now meet Cardiff in the final next month. Twickenham beckons.