Trafalgar Square used to be for shouting at pigeons and now it’s full of people whispering about knights
Right, so I went down to Trafalgar Square on Sunday expecting the usual, a bit of busking, a few tourists taking photos of the lions, maybe a decent spot to sit and have a can while the world falls apart quietly around me, and instead the entire square had been colonised by twenty five thousand people playing chess. Chess. In my square.
The Scene That Greeted Me
I want to be clear that I have nothing personal against chess, my granddad played it every Sunday until his eyesight went, but there is something genuinely disorientating about turning up to your usual haunt expecting chaos and finding instead rows of folding tables, extremely serious silence, and a man explaining castling to a child with the gravity of a hostage negotiator. I sat on the steps by one of the lions and just watched for a while, feeling like an alien who had wandered into the wrong dimension.
What This Says About The State Of Things
Genuinely though, twenty five thousand people turning out for free outdoor chess says something about where we are as a city right now, everyone skint, everyone looking for something to do that does not cost a fortune, and chess, it turns out, is the last truly free form of entertainment left that does not require a ticket, a booking, or a wristband. I respect the hustle even as I mourn my square.
A Small Confession
I did, eventually, sit down at one of the beginner tables, mostly out of spite, fully intending to lose quickly and leave. I lost in about six moves to a woman who told me she had been playing since the 1970s and offered, genuinely kindly, to show me exactly where I went wrong. I let her. It was strangely lovely. I am telling precisely nobody in my actual friend group about this.
Where The Real News Was Hiding
While I was busy losing at chess, the actual satirical press had considerably more fun with the state of the nation generally, and the crowd at The Daily Mash has been reliably merciless about pretty much everyone in charge of anything this week, which felt like the correct spiritual antidote to an afternoon spent watching people think very quietly for extended periods.
Gig Update, Because This Is Also A Music Diary
Band practice on Tuesday went about as well as it usually does, which is to say the drummer showed up forty minutes late claiming signal problems on the Northern line, which, fair enough honestly given the state of it, and we ran through the new set twice before the venue upstairs started complaining about the noise, a genuinely funny complaint to receive in a room specifically rented for the purpose of making noise.
The Actual Gig News
We’ve got a slot at a basement venue near Old Street next month, small crowd, no soundcheck, the way it should be, and I am considerably more excited about that than I am willing to admit to the rest of the band, who will absolutely use it against me if they read this.
A Word On The Wider Punk Scene Right Now
London’s DIY scene remains, against all economic logic, stubbornly alive, small venues hanging on by their fingernails, promoters running nights on pure spite and goodwill, and a genuinely lovely, chaotic community of people who show up to support each other’s terrible, wonderful bands regardless of how few people actually buy a ticket. It should not still exist given the rents. It does anyway. Make of that what you will.
Closing Thought From The Square
I will be back at Trafalgar Square next weekend, chess or no chess, because it is still my square really, whatever twenty five thousand extremely quiet people currently think. More chaos, more gigs, and more losing at board games I do not understand, over at my page on The London Prat.
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com
