Squatting on the edge of stage these four Koreans

cradle their hour-glassed shaped drums before performing

a rock drum solo that would not disgrace those

by Keith Moon, Jon Bonham, Neil Peart or Ginger Baker

with their hands alive in the air, dancing like flowers. Afterwards

they're drained, retire between the 30 odd unpronounceable instruments

for a sushi (Aldershot is well known for its sushi restaurants)

while I remain on my Robin Day chairs during the interval

unable to move to the loo or the bar for a drink

or outside to join the brethren of smoke, unable even to even talk.

House lights dim and one of the musicians returns as a traveller

prodding the stage with a walking stick, carrying a leather holdall

and wearing an orange Halloween Hat. He pulls out a paper flower

before fashioning the wooden cane with a drill and saw

to make a flute and blow a tune that carries to another star.

Other members of the group join him with a water-cooler bottle,

biscuit sized tambourine and 3 foot drum head to walk along the aisles

with stardust and majesty. The audience look as though they're

having sex and keep pinching themselves while thinking This is

the best thing I've ever been to, they're brilliant, where did they get

their trainers from, why have their entourage taken up all the key

positions at the Westy, why are they all carrying walkie-talkies

and exactly what part of Korea are they from? I'm kidding. It's only me

who thought of those last few questions and I'm a bit paranoid sometimes.