James Brown is an equal opportunities employer

There is a 3-day festival of weld music on in Brussels at the moment, Couleur Cafe, at the massive Tour & Taxis trade fair site, which has been turned into a mini Glasto for the occasion. I arranged to go there last night with Dubious Company and her other half. But before hitting the global village, DC and I kicked off (geddit?) the evening at a scuzzy Irish pub in the centre of Brussels to watch the match. The venue was moderately improved by the presence of a number of decorative young men from South America, thankfully not sporting pan pipes or ponchos for a change. DC immediately spotted an opportunity to score (geddit?) and started shouting for Argentina. Quelle tarte. Loyal to my current Teutonic gentleman friend, Bert, I cheered loudly for Germany. As you all know by now, it went to a penalty shoot-out, and this was where German precision prevailed. Vorsprung durch etc. Think BMW, think Mercedes-Benz, think Bosch. And Bosch! was the sound that finished it. I shouted "Ja, ja, ja!" trying desperately to keep my right arm in a safe position. The pub sounded a bit like a small Nuremberg rally. DC scowled, as her chance of pan-pipe lessons had just left in a huff.

On to Couleur Cafe, where things were hotting up in preparation for the performance of James Brown, the Godfather of Soul. We wolfed down some Lebanese (food! what were you thinking?) before DC's other half frogmarched us off to the main tent to await the Great Man. He's very good for an old man of 94, and James Brown wasn't too bad either. The old boy battles gamely on, but frankly I was a little disappointed. The build-up is part of the act, but they did drag it out a bit too much, and he needs an awful lot of help these days. There must have been about 20 people on stage with him, including what appeared to be the Cheeky Girls, and a quartet of Junoesque matrons in shimmy dresses - full marks to Mr Brown for employing the over-50's! If I ever get kicked off the jewellery counter at Grace Brothers I may apply for a job as one of his backup singers. His band played on gamely, but he didn't do many of his big hits, and the ones he did were fairly unrecognizable. He didn't even do that bit of comedy where he falls down on his knees. Probably too dangerous, he might never get up again. I thought the poor old sod should be allowed to retire, but I guess his ex wives won't let him.

Or perhaps I was just fatigued. It was well past my bedtime when he finished, so I left DC and her minder waiting for somebody called Burning Spear and wended my weary way homewards, through the now regular blockage of the town centre by over-excited Italians. Yes, it appears they won the World Cup again last night. I found I had managed to lose my voice with all the shouting. Oh! the irony of it! And Harold no longer around to enjoy the sound of my silence. I imagine he has a broad grin on his face, wherever he is.