How many morons are there at the average concert?

So there I was last Monday night at Frank Skinner's Credit Crunch Cabaret - incidentally, if I see one more sign for Credit Crunch Lunch I think I'm going to lose my mind, it seems nowadays (lovely word spoken by old people or Daily Mail readers or both) that one can't have a lunch without it being a credit crunch lunch. Like, people just won't have any truck with any luncheon that's not preceded by the words credit cruncheon. Hmmmm.

What about if a restaurant took it upon themselves to advertise a "same prices as last year, if you can't afford lunch here then come less often". Or "same prices, food just as good, sorry if you're skint". Anyhoo, probably wouldn't "drive traffic" or whatever phrase people say in retail land but just a thought. A small dose of whimsy of a Monday morn.

I suppose one advantage of the credit crunch luncheon is that it allows you to call up the restaurant to enquire if "they are still running their credit cunt lunch", of course, immediate back tracking after this deliberate faux-pas is always a necessary but that doesn't make it any less fun.

So there I was at the Credit Crunch Cabaret - hats off to Frank, for a name using the dreaded CC words least it's alliterative, and at least it's incongruously interesting, he mentioned that he's seen some statistics about how many people in a thousand were likely to have certain jobs, not have jobs, be straight, gay, whatever. I wonder if there's a statistic though for people in any thousand who are morons at concerts? Having spent last night at the Barbican in the company of one Ray Lamontagne I got to pondering this very question.

A also pondered the fact that Ray, which is essentially an old man at the seaside name - can take on a more exotic hue when a.it comes from another country and b.it's paired with a far more interesting than normal surname. I'm wondering if the English equivalent is Ray Mountain, which just seems to sound a bit like an English porn star name, or maybe the name of a partner of a mid-size paint balling concern in Shropshire.

So, as I was saying, there I was seated and being a relatively well behaved young man enjoying the performance of the troubadour Mr Mountain and his cowboy shirted band, and, I won't lie to you, it did start to cross my mind that maybe at some point in the concert he might take the time to say hello or address the crowd in any way shape or form.

I mean, it's just polite isn't it?

Even if you're the shyest person in the whole wide world on national shy day, you might even risk a "hi" on a Sunday night in February as all these lovely people have forked out money to come see you and left their lairs of a Sunday night to do so. To be clear, it wasn't spoiling the gig, the gig was great, he played his little Ray of the Mountains heart out, he's got the most amazingly soft gravelly voice, which I know is an unusual description but that doesn't mean it's wrong, and when he sings he really means it, a bit like Jack White in that regard. When Ray sings

Trouble, trouble trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Been doggin' my soul since the day I was born

Worry, worry, worry, worry, worry, worry
Just will not seem to leave my mind alone

The way he sings it it's fair to assume he's probably not singing about a parking fine he got for parking outside a dropped kerb and not realising that effectively a dropped kerb operates in the same way as a double yellow line which means you can never ever park there.

Anyhoo. Ray's not speaking to the audience, presumably preferring to (adopt American accent) let his music do the talking. And so there's a general feeling amongst the audience that maybe he might like to say something to us. So in between songs it goes quiet and you always get people who shout out, at the top of their voice a song they'd like played. You always get that. But this time we got "Speak to us Ray" "Say something Ray" "Ray, I love you" then an echo of that sentiment "me too", there might have been an "and me" from another part of the concert hall but then I might have made that up so the crowd - of which I was a part - just seemed more witty than they really were.

But there was this one guy, who was four seats from me who just shouted loads of unintelligible shit at the end of each song. So when everyone else is shouting "we love you Ray" etcetera etcetera, he chimes in with "erghhhhduugghhjhjjjjjj....". I mean I think it's fair to assume he's drunk. That's a fair assumption. I think it's fair to assume drinking either turns him into, amplifies or reveals his inner moron. But what is he doing at a Ray Lamontagne gig at the Barbican, at the Barbican for fuck's sake, on a Sunday night?

I repeat the question. What is a drunken - we hope - moron - certified - doing at a Ray Lamontagne gig on a Sunday night at the Barbican.

My only explanation, and I'd be the first to admit it's a tad far fetched is that he got a call from the National Office of Statistics, who, keen to safeguard their reputation of being statistically accurate, or having said that, maybe they've got a little catchphrase or letterhead slogan which reads something like

"Accurate 99.94566% of the time. Statistically speaking". Which sends them all into guffaws of laughter.

So, maybe the national office of statistics, which must be a very hard answer to give to someone on a first date and then actually have sex with them - I bet the statistics on that aren't great - anyway, maybe someone from the national office for statistics has a reasonably solid idea of the spread of people going to the Raylamontagne gig and it's all looking statistically quite solid, 123 people working in banking, 12 of whom are derivative traders and then shit!, it suddenly dawns on them.

Terry, We've got 1,104 people going to this La Montagne gig and not one of them's a fucking moron. If this gig goes ahead without the presence of one fucking moron then the credibility for the Office for National Statistics or OFFNSTAT as we know it will be in tatters. No one will ever come to us for statistics ever again.

We'll be forced to shut down. Become just another statistic.

So, all they do is check their database of crack morons, all of whom have a paging system a bit like doctors and just page a man or woman, but they're always blokes aren't they? - they just page someone nearest the Barbican and brief them, then send them in.

(phone call)

"Look I don't care if you're wearing jeans and trainers, you're a fucking moron, of course you shouldn't be dressed appropriately"

"well just get in there and start drinking Snakebite. just neck as much booze as you can, steal other people's drinks if you want, in fact make a point of doing that, then start fights with anyone that says anything about it".

"look, you're a professional, we don't care how you're a moron, just get in there and make it your own. There's only one mandatory though, you must, and this is really important, you must shout "eugghjbughgjhgkjdddd" at the end of the third song so everyone can hear.

Our reputation depends on it. We're sending a car"