I had a bizarre day yesterday.

It started at work, going to the funeral of a friend's mother. Friday is jeans day at work, but I was dress in a suit for the funeral ("Hey David! How was the job interview?" Ha ha ha). After work, I went home, changed into jeans and headed out to pick up Mr. Shawn Sage, a Toronto musician who plays a lot in similar circles around town, but we'd barely met. We've got an hour drive both ways up to Bradford so I hope he's cool.

Turns out he's an awesome guy with crazy red sideburns. We chat happily winding our way up the 404, through King City (where I'm playing with an ton of cool artists in June's KINGFEST), to Bradford.

Bradford: a city with more bars than people - a bizarre place, but kind of cool in a "I had the strangest dream last night..." kind of way. Bradford was, we find out later, the original contender for the Newmarket mall, but due to some small town politics, the mall went to Newmarket... making it into a "big" city and keeping Bradford down. Or at least that's what we're told.

We're playing at Laurinda's - a small bar just off the strip. We expect a ton of traffic so have budgeted tons of time, expecting to play around 9. Instead, we get there at 7:30ish and find out we're playing around 10. We drop our stuff off, chat with John, the owner of Laurinda's, and head out to explore Bradford.

For a small town, Bradford has an unexpected diversity of restaurants - Irish, Mexican, Carribean... and lots of bars with lots of live music. We walk up and down Holland street perusing the cover band pictures in the windows of bars. Neither Shawn or I are hungry yet and we've got a fair bit of time to kill.

Which is when we see the Bradford Bowlerama.

Downstairs there's an awesomely retro bowling alley. For $4 each we play a round of 5-pin with the Canadian small balls. Apparently Shawn used to be on a bowling league. I was never on a bowling league and haven't played in years. He kicks my ass 110 to 150 something.

Hungry, we head to Big Momma's Soul Food - which I can't recommend enough - SO GOOD! Not that you'd be able to find it, unless you parked in the back of Laurinda's where it's located. Still, it's a cool little Jerk place with pictures of Cassius Clay up on the walls and a big screen TV playing Bill O'Reilly, who was waxing poetic about how a suicide jumper on the George Washington bridge held up traffic for hours and was clearly a terrorist. The owner, Shawn and I all howled. Who knew Bill O'Reilly was so funny?

After dinner we talk to the owner a bit, telling him that we're playing across the way. He asks what kind of music and I tell him "Barenaked Ladies... Blue Rodeo." His kid is apparently crazy about Barenaked Ladies since hearing their song in Chicken Little - and Cars apparently had a country song in it that he loves. He says, "My little black kid loves all sorts of white music. He's going to grow up to become the first black country singer!"

We head into the bar, tune up and soundcheck. It doesn't sound great, but we're not sure what the problem is. Maybe it's the mic, or the bouncy windows behind us, or the speakers that are facing the stage, rather than towards the audience...

My wife, Irene & a good friend, Lisa arrive - up for a road trip and a crazy night. They are the only crowd. I ask Irene to hold my cell phone and keys (a point which will become important later...). Outside we set up my banner and a nice woman with an arm brace says she'll keep an eye on it for me. Also outside, a girl with a ferret lets me hold him. I get little ferret furs all over me - which appear suddenly under the black light back inside.

Finally a small crowd comes in and I start playing. But the sound sounds terrible - Shawn gets up and turns down my guitar to try to nix some feedback - then John gets up to "try something else" and turns my guitar up. The crowd is... bizarre. 3 women wearing white pants which glow under the black light grind and shake all over the bar while a bunch of guys watch. One girl writes an X on her ass and encourages everyone to kiss it. They are clearly the entertainment for the night. We are background music.

I'm distracted by the sound and the distracted crowd for most of my first set. Shawn gets up and manages to grab their attention for a bit with some covers and songs that work better for grinding and shaking. But he gets tired quickly of being, as he puts it, "a monkey for those girls" so he plays more of his tunes - awesome acoustic roots numbers - but the girls stop dancing and go next door to the nightclub.

Irene & Lisa, deeply impressed by the awesome sound and crowd, high tail it back to Toronto. I decide that on break we should go bowling again but the bowlerama is closed.

Back at the bar, we drink.

Terry, who booked the show for us, sets up a monitor and the sound improves the second set. The white-pants girls come back, but so do some other nice folks who are actually there to listen. I play some covers, but enjoy pulling out the quieter stuff near the end. Surpisingly I sell a CD or two. Shawn has a better second set too and we both play a bit longer, stretching the night until 2 in the morning. Tired we pack up and say goodbyes.

Which is when I look for my keys. Which are in Irene's purse. Irene, who is back in Toronto. Sleeping. Oh god.

We are trapped in Bradford.

John lets me use the phone in the back. Irene's already on her way. She found the keys in her purse and had her own "oh god" moment. Quickly she phoned my cell phone... which rang in her purse. Then she tried to find the bar's number... which isn't listed. Then she got back in the car.

Irene is a trooper.

We shut down the bar with John and hang out as he tells us about his girlfriend and comments on clubbers outside. Finally, Irene arrive. Blurry-eyed we drive slowly back to town, drop off Shawn and somehow make it home.

I don't even remember falling asleep.