Are You Sitting Comfortably... Then I Shall Begin!
- The Crow Crew
- 2 hours ago
- 18 min read
Today I've been reminiscing. It was exactly six years ago that we made the incredibly difficult decision to close our doors, and a week later, the country went into lockdown. That whole saga seems a lifetime ago now. We had 18 months of lockdowns, measuring out tables 1m apart, Track and Trace apps, table-ordering services, sanitising stations, risk assessments, early closing, changing regulations, rule of 6, scotch eggs... Then, finally (Plan B), restrictions were lifted in 2022; however, it took the best part of 18 months for the anxiety of being in a busy room to fade, and the world's social battery to return to normal. By the end of 2023, COVID seemed a distant memory. The CCB had survived, and we were back to fantastic, full-capacity gigs and a full schedule of events, but there was no doubt that COVID had a lasting impact on small businesses and the grassroots music industry as a whole.
Now, as you know, I have never been shy about oversharing... After all, a venue that didn't have anyone supporting it would be frankly, a bit shit! And I think when asking people to support what you are doing, it's always better to be honest. But my oversharing tendencies meant that I had a detailed log of our journey throughout COVID, and I thought (some of it) made for quite an interesting read, so I've added my 'Timeline of Most Epic Rants' at the end of the blog!
Upon reflection, things are a lot easier now, even if it often feels like hard work! Closing in February was the right decision, and we will do the same next year; however, losing a month's trade has meant the coffers are pretty empty, and we have been sailing very close to the wind! Hopefully, with a few more weeks of trade under our belt, things will start to ease a little, and you never know, I might not be such a weary, eye-rolling Battle-axe... (Disclaimer: It's very unlikely, so don't hold your breath)!
We have been working behind the scenes to fill the calendar with more regular events. We are nearly there and more events are being launched...
Wednesdays:
1st Wednesday of each month: Curtain Caw
This is a shout out to all you budding thespians! Once a month we plan to meet and work on some short radio plays to perform to each other. There will be plenty to choose from so everybody can get involved (plus help with sound effects and the like). More details to follow shortly!
2nd Wednesday of each month: The Big Fat Quiz of The Crow
Daft rounds, rubbish prizes, great fun... Well if it isn't broke, don't fix it!
3rd Wednesday of each month: Nevermind The Buzzard
Launching next month, our music themed game show night! Details to follow!
Last Wednesday of each month: Castle Comedy Night
Fantastic stand up comedy from TV names and rising stars.
Thursdays:
1st Thursday of each month: OSP Introducing
Showcasing 2 fantastic, grassroots alt rock/grunge/metal bands
2nd Thursday of each month: Candlelight Sessions
Magical, candlelit, acoustic performances with deals on wine & cheeseboards
3rd Thursday of each month: The Live Lounge
Chilled, seated gigs to ease you into the weekend! More details to follow soon.
Last Thursday of each month: The Mic Drop
Our acoustic open mic night, with spoken word, rap, singing, story-telling, poetry & acoustic performances, blended with vinyl soundtracks.
Fridays:
A mix of ticketed live music events, guest DJ nights and local bands.
Saturdays:
BYO Vinyl 12-6pm followed by free live music from 9pm.
Sundays: Vinyl DJ Sessions 12-4pm
Number 6 - spinning some iconic 60s classics, soundtracks, mod, soul & jazzy vibes
Afternoon Rave - spinning the finest Techno and old skool house beats
The Lounge Buzzardz, Sunday Club - chilled, down-tempo vibes
Ska From The Bar - Ska, soul, punk & rock n roll classic vinyl
Of course, we have still found room to shoe-horn in some quirky gigs on Sunday nights. Last Sunday being no exception, with MFC Chicken ending their UK tour at The Crooked Crow Bar in fantastic style! Check out the website for when we have more Sunday gigs booked in... In fact, it is my mission to get all of the years events up on to the website by the end of March! (I appreciate that I also said that at the end of February, but this time, there's a chance I might actually get it completed)!!!
For now, I can at least let you know what is coming up over the next couple of weeks!
Check this out....
Friday 20 March, 20:30
Rich Man's Trick
It's their CCB debut and we cannot wait! Fantastic Blues Rock classics and free entry too!
Saturday 21st March 12-6pm: BYO Vinyl
9pm: V8 - Hard Rock Belters. Free entry on a 1st come basis.
Sunday 12-4pm: Indie Sun
Great beer, coffee, and atmosphere, all with a banging indie soundtrack!!
Wednesday 25 March: Castle Comedy Night
Thursday 26th March: The Mic Drop
Friday 27th March: Remnants of Theia - Jukebox Night
Saturday 28th March: The Corsairs
Sunday 29th March: Ska From The Bar
Wednesday 1st April: Curtain Caw
Thursday 2nd April: OSP Introducing
Friday 3rd April: Children of the Damned - Iron Maiden Tribute
Saturday 4th April: El Bronson - Perverse Nu Metal
Sunday 5th April: Number Six DJ Session
Plus... Coming to a Crooked Crow Bar near you on 10th April:
MY TIMELINE OF EPIC RANTS (ABBREV)!
2020:
We had spent weeks, sanding, painting, hot gluing and upcycling everything we could lay our hands on. It was all leading up to an epic, momentous event: The 17th January 2020...
Opening night!!!
With a brilliant, sold-out gig to kick us off, we were ready to launch The Crooked Crow Bar (albeit bum-squeakingly by the skin of our teeth)!
That fantastic night set in motion an absolute avalanche of bands, beers and plans!
Although just a few weeks before, the bar had been an empty unit, it felt as if the Crow had always been there, like we had unearthed it rather than created it... as if it already had its own identity and we were simply getting to know who it was, whilst we navigated the late nights, chaos and excitement running an events bar had brought.
By the end of January, the national press took a rest from Corbyn and Brexit and began scaremongering about a new superbug from China!
Hah! We had survived swine flu, bird flu, Ebola, Edwina Curry's eggs, blue smarties, Jedward...! So the China flu was hardly a biggie.
By the end of February, the virus had spread to Europe... Countries were locking down... Hospitals were overwhelmed... People were dying. Then, before anyone could say "Put down the fork and step away from the bat", we were in the midst of a global pandemic.
On the 19th March 2020, we closed the bar. A week later, the whole country shut down.
Non-essential workers donned their pyjamas, installed Zoom and quickly figured out that although banana bread is easy to bake, it tastes like arse... (even if it was acceptable to wash it down with half a pint of neat rum, followed by 4 gins and a bottle of rosé).
The claws of the nation's dogs were more buffed than a Magic Mike concert, as walking became the only excuse to get out of the house... Well, the only excuse that didn't involve queuing for 40 minutes outside a flour-less supermarket, before following the arrows in a joyless, 2-meter spaced conga, feeling the burning judgement if you grabbed a packet of toilet rolls, or tried to read the ingredients on a jar of curry sauce.
On telly, our bumbling leader would clamber out of the fridge and spaff his daily riddles: "Stay alert, things are good but bad, control the virus", and then a couple of scientists would point at a graph... And once a week, we'd clap on our doorsteps to thank our frontline workers for being such good sports about the shit wages and lack of PPE.
Our whole predicament was completely, unbelievably, insane. But, despite it all, we had hope. We were united in that shittest of shit times, and things seemed like they were going to get better.
We formed community groups and support groups on social media. We took to the internet, socialised, played quizzes and watched gigs broadcast from people's front rooms or garden sheds.
But soon, having binge-watched every available box set, drunk every conceivable alcoholic beverage, and realised that teachers deserved the Victoria Cross, Britain was bored shitless.
Finally, in the Summer, they let us out for good behaviour.
There were no more daily briefings but clear, solid government guidance:
"You should only drive to scenic spots for an eye test, childcare should not involve hugging, attendance at weddings & funerals was limited unless you shot a grouse, masks are bad unless you catch a bus, beer is fine if you sit down, live music is fine if it's outside and nobody plays a saxophone."
So, as we all knew what we were doing, we nervously ventured outside, and things indeed seemed a little bit better.
By the 9th July, our bar could reopen, complete with an obese risk assessment and ever-changing regulations that would baffle the most astute business brains (let alone 3 pissheads who had somehow managed to turn an old Blockbuster video shop into a music venue).
Whilst we were still a million miles away from normal life, we soon got into the swing of it: fashioning extra tables from cable drums and barrels, and installing drinks-ordering apps.
Having seemingly confused the virus for a Cinderella-esque zombie apocalypse, it became mandatory to close the bar early each night to get everybody home before midnight... and masks were now essential, well, unless you had a sick note, or sat down.
People could get tested for COVID in IKEA car parks, and having invested billions into the Track & Trace Excel spreadsheet, it looked like we could slowly return to a new kind of normal.
By mid August, they allowed live performances indoors again, and we saw first-hand how powerful it was to give people a night out/a shared experience/escapism.
By now, we had jumped through so many hoops we were just a few ribbon twizzles away from an Olympic medal! We had a purpose... We could do this. Things were looking up...
They had found a vaccine, and we had nearly made it through that utter dog turd of a year!
As live music was more dangerous than schools or shops (albeit not statistically), they shut us down in November, but we were allowed to reopen in December if we closed by 10pm, once they discovered the healing powers of the scotch egg.
On the 18th December, with just 2 days' notice, we had moved to Tier 3, which meant we (again), had to close.
The Crooked Crow Bar was flying for 3 months, closed for 4, open (at 30% capacity) for 3 months, closed for a month, open for a couple of weeks, then closed again!!!
2020 was over.
Almost 100,000 people had died in the UK. There seemed little to celebrate.
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July 2021:
With the whole of the UK back in lockdown and a new strain of the virus ripping through the country, our fearless leaders, with their ever-swift handling of the crisis, considered closing the borders...
They had started rolling out the vaccine, which should have sparked hope that things would soon be over, but hope was dangerous... I had given all my hope to 2020, yet there we were in 2021, still stuck in the endless, shitty episode of Black Mirror.
I had shut down... Not just the bar... Not just staying home...
I had embraced my grizzly, unshaven, porkiness and had entered into full hibernation mode.
Conversations became difficult and unwanted, due to a combination of growing social awkwardness and having bugger all to talk about.
The outside was bad... cold... full of wankers.
There's a slight possibility that the 2 teenagers locked in the house with me died weeks before, and whilst the smell emanating from the upstairs of the house could have been their decomposing corpses, the daily disappearing food, cups and glasses, lead me to believe they have survived... Fair play.
Of course, I knew that this utter, hairy bum-crack of a situation would be eminently improved if I just allowed myself to hope again... allowed myself to believe that this is just the last leg of an epic journey... the last mile of the marathon and therefore bound to be the toughest....
Things will get better... And believe me, when that Golden Age arrives (and it will), I will be ready for it!!!
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November 2021:
Things at The Crow are finally starting to feel positive. We are open, but still not back to those full-capacity, queuing-to-get-in days we had pre-pandemic, but (touch wood), it is starting to feel like those days aren't too far away. And whilst I am sure I will then be moaning about having zero respite, the full-on, hedonistic days of sweaty, full capacity gigs & events can't come soon enough!
The journey to getting The Crooked Crow Bar up and running has been absolutely mammoth. The (albeit understandable) COVID caution is everywhere, and the fact that nobody dare believe that perhaps, just perhaps, this utter shit show is now behind us...
Dear God, let's hope that is the case!
Despite my many moans about the government, the restrictions, the scotch eggs, the curfews, the lockdowns, and the general public, like an optimistic baboon foraging for earthworms in the worlds biggest dung pile, I do think that there is some good that we can take away from all this. Out of pure necessity, at the bar we cut everything down to the bone and scrutinised everything we were doing, so now it feels like everything we are putting out is of an absolutely awesome quality. But having stripped down to skeleton crew, having no break (as I don't consider the depressing months being locked in the house a "holiday") and the ballbagging arse-ache that it was to trade through the last 18 months has meant that I am now clinging on to sanity by one of my many chin whiskers.
The initial excitement of creating the Crow has long since fkd off and whilst I still love my Crow Crew, staff do's, catch ups and any other frivolities have all been put on the back burner while we continue to trudge through this shittest of shit times.
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March 2022:
The governments last assassination attempt on our industry just before Christmas seems an age ago now and whilst it's impact has been hard to shake, I am glad to report, as each week rolls by, the chance of our survival improves.
It feels like this time, we may actually be able to get back to some sense of normality, however currently there remains some understandable covid-caution and with that and the grey weather, back-to-back storms, increases in the cost of living and horrendous scenes from The Ukraine on the news, there is no wonder that this feels like a slow, shell-shocked re-emergence from our solitudes rather than the dawning of a golden age.
I had quite fancied myself embracing the post apocalypse in true roaring 20s fashion, a few martini's for breakfast, wolf down a spiffing blancmange, then catch up with some bright young things for some serious flapping at the best joint in town, but instead it feels like I have been trudging through the last couple of months just hoping that Spring brings with it a wave of optimism and much needed cheerier times.
We have at least managed to host some absolutely amazing gigs and whilst the bar still remains a little bit like a bad boyfriend (it has potential, we are just yet to see it work), there is no denying that at times, what we have created is pure magic. Let's just hope we can now move on from bumping along trying to survive, to actually thriving. I remind myself that January and February are always tough times for the trade and therefore surely, fking surely, things will now start to get easier.
My work/life balance is still non-existent. The time I have away from the bar is either spent working on the laptop or simply sat, utterly crackered, staring into space, wishing that supermarkets weren't the soulless, harshly lit, voids of humanity that they are, as they are currently the only venues I get to frequent where I am not on the payroll.
Strangely, despite not having the time to eat the recommended daily calorie intake of an average rodent, let alone human, my arse is defiantly expanding of its own accord. Whilst this should probably bother me more than it actually does, at least beach / harpoon season is still a fair way away and on the upside, having a mahoosive backside does have its advantages when it comes to balancing out the frizz-ball the size of a wildebeest that is growing from my head.
The realisation that my kids are turning 21 and 18 in the next couple of months has been more of a tough one to swallow. Whilst I was pretty young when I spawned them, somehow I have managed to catch up with the rest of the mums and am now crashing towards middle age quicker than a pissed chav in a shopping trolley. I'm looking forward to all the wonderful things middle age has to offer... menopause... working another 20+ years to get a shit pension allowance... saga holidays. I am slightly worried that my years of "fuck it" philosophy on all things life and health related, may very quickly be coming to bite me in the arse. But for now, I plan to just stress about it in my down time and smoke a few fags.
Anyway, generally, despite my many, many moans, life at long last looks a lot more promising than it did just a few months ago and who knows, maybe a better work - life balance, a thriving bar, a smaller bottom and a less rabid head companion will be found in the not too distant future. Hmmm, anyone else have deja-vu?!
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July 2023
Whether it's the grey drizzle of Summer, the general cost of living or just the fact I am absolutely crackered, there is no denying that today, I've been a bit cranky. The last couple of weeks have blurred into one endless drudge of a work shift and on my one day off, I lost most of the day just staring into space, trying to decide which muscle in my aging, rotund carcass ached the most.
Throughout my adult life (prior to lockdown), it always confounded me that feeling tired, sick or emotional would immediately be met with an unwelcome "Are you sure you're not pregnant?" remark... No Susan, I am just fat, thankyou. But these days, that would be preferable to the "Oh dear. Menopause?" comments... Actually Susan, I'm 44, so whilst it's not impossible that I'm menopausal, it's likely my urge to shove this paper drinking straw up your nose is entirely unrelated to my uterus!
Ironically, whilst work is almost definitely the reason why I'm so tired, it is also the very thing keeping me sane, or at least, as close to sane as I'm going to get! The events are coming thick and fast now and they have been absolutely fantastic, but we are still precariously hand-to-mouth and everything from the weather, to other local events, leads to hours of stressing as to how it could potentially impact our business. Of course, all the stressing in the world won't change anything, as with everything in life, some things are just beyond our control.
Whilst it's only Tuesday, this week I've already been bombarded by helpful people... The "have you thought about doing [blah blah blah]" brigade. Irritatingly, these people rarely want a conversation, they always look mortified when I tell them that we have indeed thought about doing [blah blah blah], but didn't think it would be financially viable because of [blah blah blah]. Or that there is a limited market for [blah blah blah], or that you can already do [blah blah blah] somewhere else. I think I just need to learn to smile and say "Hmm... School-run friendly jazz-funk workshops... Good idea, thanks." Then just file it under "Ridiculous Crap I Have to Listen To at Work" rather than assuming these helpful people really give a hamsters g spot about our business, or even, are from planet Earth.
Then the final straw that broke my already waning mood today came as I was planning on doing some work from the bar. I drove down to The Crow, but wasn't able to park due to some delightful member of the public who had decided to park their car across both of our allocated parking spaces (the ones clearly marked CCB STAFF PARKING), so that was it. The thought of waiting for the driver to return, to potentially have a row with some silly gonk, looking like they'd been sheep-dipped in tango with JUICY written across their velour clad buttocks, was just too much. So I came home to work (& sulk) from the sanctity of my front room, where it's far less peoply. Hopefully by tomorrow I will be back to my usual 'sunshine & rainbows' self, but just in case, I would advise against making any climacteric comments (or at least, standing well clear of the drinking straws if you do)!!!
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August 2024
The last few years, as you know, have been a wincey bit challenging.
The last few months however, things have started to escalate from 'hot mess' to 'spicy disaster'.
Launching any new business is hard work, time consuming, expensive and stressful. But knowing this and experiencing it are two very different things. Add into the mix a global pandemic, lockdowns, scotch eggs, Liz Truss tanking the economy before her salad wilted, monumental hikes in energy costs, rises in the cost of stock, and an economically strapped market, it seemed the 'L' in our luck had been replaced by a giant 'F'.
I won't bore you with the details of how the pandemic damaged the entertainment industry, after all, I wouldn't be telling you anything I haven't already overshared exhaustively in the past. But in relation to our business, it left us unable to do the usual things that a fledgling business needs to do to survive: advertising, growing, establishing itself and building cash reserves. Instead, we left those first few years, no further along, yet absolutely crackered and carrying an unavoidable debt.
We had survived, but The CCB had become all life consuming. My home life and social life had taken a battering and any self care routine had long been abandoned. I had morphed into a haggard, intolerant, panda-esque being. Clothes were for comfort... full stop. In fact, if I wasn't likely to have to deal with the blood-curdling screams of the horrified and have to hide anything sharp enough for them to stab in their eyes, I'd probably forgo wearing clothes altogether, (well that and the fact my baps would likely dangle in the drip trays). With eyebags the size of bouncy castles, makeup was now pointless, unless the desired goal was to be transformed from a lumpy 1970's space-hopper to a lightly tanned mime artist that had been recently stung by bees. My hair still looked like I superglued my scalp before lying down in a field of angora rabbits with a daffodil between my teeth and my bottom was just a cupcake away from being listed as a roundabout on Google Maps.
But, having an epic arse, potentially rabid hair and all the feminine charm of a burly brick-layer with norks, were the least of my worries...
We were in our fifth year of trading. Our manager and my business partner had left (albeit both remaining good friends and part of the Crow Crew for the odd shift) and decisions needed to be made as to whether we... well, I, renew the lease for The Crooked Crow Bar to continue.
Having been so consumed by the business for so long, making an impartial decision about it's future was impossible. It felt like a head or heart decision, but my head was more chaotic than a game of Jamanji and following my heart would probably lead me straight to the fridge!
Sometimes you just have to make a decision - good or bad, left or right, roads are covered in flat hedgehogs that are noncommittal... So I put on my big-girl porky-pants, sorted through the books and plans, and took the accounts and projections to a music venue finance specialist to see if he believed we were a viable business. The good news is that the specialist thought the business was sound. In fact, given our journey so far, the books were pretty good. Ideally we would need a 20% increase overall if we were ever going to shake off those first few years and start to grow. Hoorah! But...
Usually 20% is the natural increase in trade after the first quarter, but this year, frustratingly, the weather dragged out those quieter months and we, (along with almost every venue and high-street business), were left feeling the pinch.
If we can't find the 20% increase is it game over? Well, I guess the honest answer is: maybe. We are trading in the black, which is fantastic, but without any cash reserves, a quiet few weeks could mean no cashflow which could potentially topple us. But 20% is not insurmountable.... it equates to two more events per week (on top of our usual Fridays, Saturdays and bi Wednesdays) and/or a slight increase in trade on our non-event times.
I had made my decision. Somebody queue the Whitesnake!
I wasn't ready to let The CCB go down. We had put in SO much work, it had become such a fantastic venue, we had hosted some absolutely epic events. To walk away from the business when it was finally in the black and so close to succeeding was just not an option. It may transpire that I am completely mental, but hey, anyone who doesn't like it can get off of my unicorn.
Our accountant and our new business manager both got to work restructuring the covid debt and creating new budgets and targets and I got to work starting negotiations for a new long-term lease. It was going to be a bit of a bumpy ride if we were going to trade our way through this, but with a bit of luck, minor juggling and meticulous management, the future of The CCB would soon be secure.
I love our little venue and it's a fantastic place to work... We host some amazing events, have a brilliant team and most people that frequent the bar are absolutely lovely. But running the business, bar and events on my own was problematic, even with a great team behind me. I was already tired and and running on empty and now, the business needed even more of my time! I needed to be writing, booking, running and promoting events, but the business negotiations, meetings, plans and paperwork, couldn't be avoided. Making changes at the bar also meant being at the bar, and so the hours started to clock up more and more.
Being in a customer facing, customer service role is never going to be a good fit for me. Even when on best behaviour, my blunt honesty, savage sense of humour (if they cry, they cry) and lack of tolerance, is inescapable. I am not responsible for what my face does when idiots talk to me. I used to try and curb my language, but as studies have shown that intelligent people swear more than stupid b*st*rds, I've decided, F**k it!
The CCB is like a giant wheel and it keeps turning. The things that need improving keep flashing passed me lap after lap, but trying to change things while it's in motion is not an easy task. To stop the wheel would be disastrous, so we keep turning and accept that changes may seem tediously slow. But they are changing... Life will get easier.... The CCB will survive.
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