I suggest to Malu that we "walk next door to check out the fake Indian palace" (the Brighton Pavilion, an architectural fantasy based on the palaces of Rajistan). A voice behind us in the security area pipes up, in a somewhat peeved tone, "It may as well be authentic — it's 200 years old!"
This annoyed voice stays with me. I must have touched a nerve somewhere and so did he. I was not meaning to imply that the Pavilion and the Dome where we are playing are not spectacular and impressive — they certainly are — but they just as certainly were the Las Vegas architecture of their time: faux exotica. But somehow I doubt that today's signs, hotels, and pirate ships of Vegas will be around 200 years from now. This one at least was made of real brick and stone.
The Dome is filled and the audience is wonderful — a little calm at first, but then, so is our set. Then they're up and dancing. A shirtless man jumps on stage, dancing. Security is nowhere to be seen, though it doesn't seem to matter, as he's apparently content grooving over on the strings side of the stage.
Lawrell, at the monitor desk, decides to be security but wasn't ready to grapple with a large sweaty shirtless man. Lawrell grabbed the belt of this guy, who was about twice his size, and the man turns around and starts waltzing with Lawrell — clearly not what was intended. Security showed up and the guy vanished.
Next up was a rolly polly woman who'd been having a good time all night. This time, security was there immediately and so the poor thing only had a few seconds of glory.
I saw her reappear near her seat a few minutes later, looking sort of glum. It seems when she'd been whisked to the rear of the hall, the security tossed her bag and it slipped under the stage — to a sub level. (It was retrieved after the show).
As we walk back to the hotel after the show, the lights of the Pier and on the Pavilion are on, and, being a Saturday, the streets are filled with drunken revelers. A group of hens in devils' horns passes us singing the chorus to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," over and over. Others stand glassy-eyed or lurch and wobble as they stand with their mates...wondering if the night is over or just beginning.
Malu is sort of frightened. She asks me why English people get so drunk. I tell her I have my theories, and they're kind of long-winded, but if she wants to hear them...
We leave at midnight for Galway, which involves a ferry trip at 9AM, then a drive across Ireland to the West Coast. We arrive at about 3PM the next day.
