I know it's Carnival when a five-trunked pink elephant is placed, calmly, outside Nahals cornershop. Its glittering array of jewellery and fearsome tusks confront me, lonesome and shuffling on a dawn quest for a fanta, triple A batteries and watery bacon. It is, I'm sure, one of the finest pieces of exotica ever to grace Talbot road. I almost left all my purchases at its majestic feet as an offering. The street, home to My Beautiful Laundrette, the Globe club and an upper-class waxing salon, gets its first taste of magic since I threw up a mixture of white-lightning and coconut...or this time last year. Gazs Rockin' Blues comes West. Over the morning, watching from a doorstep, I saw a square-rigged pirate schooner, the Taj Mahal and a crane/air balloon assemble. Peacefully, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. I wish I had the set GRB played, a joy of easystepping beats and t'rilling ska. Everybody sort of lets loose, dancing like they're limbering up for some interprative drama, while a bloke in a fez blows bubbles, two ladies gyrate in leopard leotards and Gaz, in a top-hat and braces, brings his unique accent to a bunch of temporarily very happy people. Oh, and his band the Trojans played live; the second-hand bookseller from Portobello Market pigeon-heading out the bass. It's sweet smelling music.
Here's something from the Trojans, an example-
The Trojans - Ringo
The Trojans - Anti-Racist
All-embracing Floor-embracing
(he was alright)
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