It's an ongoing inconvenience in my life that a lot of people I like in both the world of poetry and music seem to get gigs in venues I care rather less for. It's an ongoing disparity. I've waffled on about the Old Crown pub's status on the poetry circuit for so long that I'm beginning to bore even myself, but I've perhaps talked less about how little I like the "legendary" 100 Club on Oxford Street, which is right at the other end of the spectrum, in the red zone labelled "scuffed up beyond belief". Even as a teenager I disliked the place. Yes, people will tell you, but it's so delightfully authentic and tumbledown. It looks as if it hasn't been decorated since 1973. "Precisely", I'll reply.

Actually, my descriptions of the 100 Club could go further than that. Not only does it look as if it hasn't been decorated since 1973, it also looks as if it hasn't quite been tidied up or repaired after a wild working man's club party where the orange plastic chairs and wobbly formica top tables took some slight damage. It's not the end of the world, obviously - I don't necessarily expect plushness from gig venues, but if they're going for the whole "earthy" vibe, I would at least like them to perhaps try to go beyond the community hall look. A good band can transcend a trashy environment, but why give them the challenge in the first place? The 12 Bar on Denmark Street has exactly the right idea about how to look authentic and old-school without looking as if the painters and decorators last visit pre-dated the pub rock movement.

The evening manages to get off to a bad start as one of the doormen/ bouncers takes exception to me entering the venue a whole two minutes before they're ready, sending me outside again to wait behind the door like a naughty boy. I don't want to quibble, but it's not so much the problem as the way he addresses it - with aggressive and sarcastic tones. When I was a teenager I looked forward to the day where I wouldn't be shepherded around by bouncers in a condescending way anymore. That day never came. My older self feels impotent about this outcome. I could raise a complaint about shoddy customer service values, but I think it would fall on deaf ears. There's not really anything you can say to these people. "Excuse me, my good man, but I think you might find that your shabby little gig venue might stand rather more of a chance in the harsh London climate if you utilised some manners around your customers" probably wouldn't wash. I'm half tempted to try it, just to see if it stuns him into silence, then think better of it when I realise it would be likely to get a more forthright response.

Still, it's always a happy night when Misty's Big Adventure do a gig in London, irrespective of the location or the gatekeepers. Last night they were minus their giant blue dancing "creature" Erotic Volvo, the many-handed, wild-eyed gibbering thing who regularly dives into the audience to dance with random strangers. He was voted "worst band mascot" by staff at the NME recently, which is a bit unfair - his absence makes one thing very apparent, which is that he was indeed responsible for a certain volume of the atmosphere the band created. Without Erotic Volvo, the audience seem to take longer to be persuaded to dance, and even the band themselves seem a bit more subdued than usual. You expect that kind of result from a lead guitarist who has been replaced by a session musician, but it's surprising to note that somebody who has previously been dismissed as "Bez-like" makes such a big difference. I hope his absence is only temporary.

A slightly below par Misty's Big Adventure gig still kicks the performances of almost all other bands into touch, of course, and this one is aided by their inclusion of a "Greatest Hits" set, playing each and every one of their singles back to back. It's a reminder of how long their career has plodded on for. When I first saw them at the 12 Bar back in 2002, I was convinced that they were destined for greater things and within a couple of years would be playing the Astoria as a headline act. That they're still only playing the 100 Club is something I will always find baffling. When "Fashion Parade" kicks in, it sounds every inch like a lost hit single - in fact, perhaps if they'd chosen a topic for the lyrics which revolved around something other than criticising the more fashionable bands around them, it would have stood a chance. A great big brassy pop tune criticising the playlist favourites of XFM was never, ever going to break through in the way it deserved, although perhaps we can listen to it in years to come and laugh amongst ourselves when the careers of the Kaiser Chiefs are up.

I'm stunned by the band as always, although I've given up on the idea that they're ever going to have anything other than a marginal cult following. As long as they can afford to look after themselves, I'll be happy - perhaps there's something to be said for setting up direct debit schemes for any bands we feel might become airbrushed out of existence in the present conservative music scene. I'd happily drop them a couple of hundred pounds a year just to keep going forward. In this Internet driven age, would it be too much to ask for a website where we could drop funds in the direction of bands in return for the odd T-shirt, exclusive album, the guarantees of gigs in usually ignored far flung towns and perhaps a special mug? Have I invented the future here, or just thought of a concept which belongs way back in the past (the fan club)? You tell me.