Last Saturday I went with my wife to see the Illegal Eagles at the G Live in Guildford. On arriving at the venue, it took fifteen minutes of driving around trying to find a parking space. The three multi-story carparks surrounding the arena were full. And this was at 6.45 pm! Luckily ,or perhaps illegally (like the band), I managed to squeeze my car into what looked like a church carpark. But I was not sure we should’ve been there, so I uttered three brisk Hail Mary’s before we abandoned the car, hoping that would heal any religious bylaws I may have broken.

The G Live is a capacious venue that encourages you to be there thirty minutes to buy food and drink from the bars therein, before the performance. The use of the word performance was very apt as it described, admirably, the act of trying to purchase any refreshments. The problem being, the bars were chronically understaffed. The barpersons that were drifting around appeared to be achingly slow, new recruits that had been shoehorned in at short notice.

The queues were so long that when I finally arrived at the counter, I realised that I had seven minutes to drink a pint of Guinness. That was, of course, before I had actually received the drinks. I watched the barman, who looked like he had never been allowed out after nine o’clock at night, fill half the glass of my drink from the tap. He then left the bar, presumably to find a bottle of the house Sauvignon Blanc for my wife. When he had not returned after two minutes, I leant across, flicked the handle and finished pouring my pint.

Like magic, he suddenly appeared and said in an unusually high voice, ‘What are you doing? You must not touch the machinery.’

Machinery? Since when has a beer pump been called machinery? Anyway, I replied, ‘I’m helping you to do the job you seem to be struggling to fulfil. The fact is I now have,’ I said, looking at my watch, ‘five minutes in which to drink my pint of Guinness.’

‘You are allowed to take your drinks into the auditorium,’ he said, proffering the card machine.

I wanted to say that I was hoping to relax with my missus on one of the comfy seats in the spacious area provided, have a slow drink and feel the tension of searching for somewhere to park slip away from my tense muscles. But I refrained from any further intercourse with this snail-like server and joined the packed throng inside the theatre.

Oh yes! The performance. This incredibly talented band played and sang all the well-known Eagles songs as if they were the pucker bunch of American stars. The only difference was that the Illegal chaps had not written the songs. That was because (and we’ve seen the Eagles on four occasions), those feelings of musical memories that each song provides, taking you to different places and times in your life, were performed to perfection, exactly the same as the real deal as we reminisced on our journey home.

If a fine from the church drops on my doormat any time soon it would’ve been worth it.