Coba Fynn took to the stage of Ivory Black’s at 11 pm last Friday, the penultimate band of no less than eight, and the first not to attempt a Biffy Clyro impersonation. We were older than perhaps 95% of the audience, and, being of an age to legally buy alcohol and having had five hours to kill between soundcheck and our late-night slot, we were also considerably more inebriated.

The gig was originally supposed to have taken place in Glasgow’s Barfly, but its new owners HMV had taken one look at its finances and immediately closed it down, leaving the gig without a venue and the four bands adrift. Sim-o the promoter had pulled out all the stops to find us a new home at Ivory Black’s around the corner, and we turned up at 6 pm sharp (well, sharp for Coba Fynn) to watch apprehensively as the other bands were dropped off by their parents.

“What’s the running order? When are we soundchecking?” we asked the gig skivvy.

“I remember you guys from Barfly. You’re aren’t just another one of these kiddie Blink 182 cover bands, so we’ll put you second to last. Oh, and we only soundcheck the first and last bands because of noise regulations.”

Political correctness gone mad, readers. Call the Daily Mail.

“See you back here in five hours’ time!”

And so, after a few quiet pints and a burger in front of the fire at Rab Ha’s had us yawning and fighting off a Pavlovian urge to call it a night, we hauled ourselves back to Ivory Blacks to grab another pint and watch the last couple of bands before our slot.

We tuned up and plugged in, and at the direction of the sound guy we more or less soundchecked right there and then. In normal circumstances I’d have been spluttering with indignation — how unprofessional! — but on this particular night it seemed to fit right into the haphazard, last minute feel of things, and we were off into Glasgow Girl without any more fuss.

And oddly enough, we played a really good gig.

The crowd was a mix of giggling schoolchildren, a few neds hovering at the happy/belligerent boundary and some ‘Fynn regulars. The kids were too busy exchanging Bebo addresses to pay much attention, but our faithful fans were enjoying themselves and the neds in particular seemed to have been gripped with a strange fascination for the mighty ‘Fynn. A slack-jawed couple lounged over the security rail right under Charlie’s nose and stared fixedly up at him for the whole duration, while a cheerily demented guy near the bar danced away and locked eyes with at yours truly, punching the air as we na-na-na-na’d our way through Fox in the Phoenix. We finished to whoops and applause.

Last on were Ready 2 Fall, a fresh-faced foursome of Blink 182 wannabes who took my preconceptions and rocked them to pieces. We whooped and applauded in our turn, and I was impressed enough to later visit their Bebo page (okay, not all of my preconceptions) and have a listen to their recordings. You should do the same!