Hot on the heels of Billy Mitchell and Rod Clements appearing together at the Magnesia Bank just a few weeks back, we had the unmissable attraction of a further compelling double bill, and a surefire excuse for yet another raid across the border. I hadn't seen Marty since his Lindisfarne farewell at Walker, more than a year before, and I was more than encouraged by reports of his continuing activities. So when I heard that the Happy Cats were appearing at the Barrels, I must have been one of the first to buy a ticket, to watch Marty's new band at the same venue as I saw the brilliant Rod Clements one year before to the day.

Given that most of the evening at the Maggie Bank had been taken up by duets by Rod and Billy, one might have expected that Billy would have joined the Happy Cats for a few numbers, but it wasn't to be. Instead, Billy, punctual as ever, took the stage at nine, played his set, then cleared off to the bar and let the Happy Cats do theirs. Simple as that.

Billy was something of a revelation; I had rather feared that having seen him less than a month before, it might be a bit soon to see him again. I needn't have worried. The wee man was well on form, and was an engaging presence throughout. His guitar playing was wonderful, and such was the consummate skill with which he handled his instrument - duly repaired and apparently fully recovered after its misadventure at the Maggie Bank - that it might as well have been a 60 piece orchestra. A backing band would just have been an unwelcome distraction. His relaxed and spontaneous humour held an audience who needed no winning over, and the sense of harmony and absence of tension between the performer and his listeners was a rare thing indeed. He could have played all night, and nobody would have got fed up with him.

As at the Maggie Bank, the first song was Darlin' Be Home Soon. Billy got his harmonica out for this one, and it was a shame that it didn't reappear. He really could do with making more extensive use of this instrument. Billy made a crack about coming from ‘a little fishing hamlet called North Shields', which was interesting, as Billy Connolly, to whom I have compared Billy M on a couple of previous occasions, is on record as having referred to Partick as ‘a quaint fishing village on the Clyde'. Short People followed, and then came Rab Noakes's Together Forever, on which Billy's great, solid sounding guitar work was particularly evident. Next, Rocking Chair, and a revelation. Billy told us that the story recounted in the old JTL favourite is ‘a complete pack of lies' - his Grandad, now thanks to Billy a minor celebrity in his own right, never went to sea in his life, and certainly never ‘rode from London to Leeds in one day.' Ah well, life is full of shattered illusions. Sundown Station came after that, and this was the first of several occasions in the course of Billy's performance when the name of Rod Clements was taken in vain. Rod wrote the song, originally recorded as a duet with Bert Jansch, but for some reason Billy was of the opinion that it sounded as if it could have been written by Rod's great-grandad. Don't ask me why. I'm sure it was all tongue in cheek, though, for immediately after Billy performed Can't Do Right For Doing Wrong (click here for a still picture with a 40 second sound clip), and explained that this was a Rod Clements song which he was ‘particularly fond of '. Then came Born at the Right Time, Ray Davies' Days (Billy recounted a story about himself and Alan Hull seeing Ray Davies perform solo in South Shields in 1994, and being highly impressed), and James Taylor's You Got A Friend. Next, Billy's amusing and mercifully brief ditty about the Jamaican Rum Shortage, which certainly needs to be heard - once, anyway. He then had the audience in stitches with a series of biting puns in A Dog Is Not Just For Christmas - Dinner, Billy's humorous approach to a desperately un-funny subject. Take a bow-wow, Billy Mitchell! An anti-Tory comment is more or less compulsory on these occasions, and tonight Billy expressed some satisfaction at the incarceration of Jeffrey Archer, a theme echoed by Marty a little while later. We were near to the end now, and there followed the funniest moment of the whole evening. Billy announced ‘If you've enjoyed it, my name's Billy Mitchell... if you didn't, it's Rod Clements!' A rather doubtful voice from the audience (Michael Bailey presently being the chief suspect) supplied the punch line - ‘Where's your hat?'. When the laughter finally subsided, Billy closed with The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down and encored with Wild World. Here again, Billy's stunningly effective guitar work was in evidence, and his Sting vocal impersonation was funny enough, though it did rather detract from the sheer brilliance of the song.

One thing kind of bothered me through Billy's set. The Barrels is the original small intimate venue, and the stage is small and intimate as well. A year ago, Rod, never the most heavily- built of men, made it look crowded, and the same was true tonight of Billy. So how on earth were the Happy Cats - all three of them - going to get on stage? Well, they didn't, instead they lined up just in front of the stage.

This was my first time at a Happy Cats gig, and my lack of familiarity with much of their material only added to the charm of the occasion. First song was a Cajun sounding effort called Pizzericco, immediately followed by Driftin' Through. Marty later told me that Brian and Les wanted to leave this one - Marty's greatest hit - out, but he had insisted. I'm very glad that he did, as I would have been disappointed if I hadn't heard it. This song was always out and away my favourite track off of Welcome To The Neighbourhood, and it was the prospect of hearing it performed live again which tempted me to venture south. The song's instrumental fade-out was performed on duelling accordions, and as I recall, it ended suddenly.

There followed the inevitable tribute to Alan Hull, in the shape of All Fall Down, which was always one of my favourites from Alan's wide repertoire. After that, a song I didn't recognise, something about ‘tearing down the boulevard'. According to the set list which I cadged off of Marty, it's called Looking For The Heart of Saturday Night. Then one of the evening's true highlights, which I for one can readily identify with, Sixties Still. Marty brought out his sax for this one. ‘My Heart is Living in the Sixties Still' - well, speaking for myself, I just about made it into the first half of 1973, but that was only with considerable assistance from a band called Lindisfarne. Which probably goes a long way to explaining my total lack of familiarity with most of this set. Next up, a song I DID recognise, Fairytale of New York, which ended with a highly effective Irish jig arrangement. Next came Je Suis Desolé, which sounded to me a bit like a sort of Jacques Brel meets the Pogues. The sixties time-warp continued, with the Beatles's Help! and Walk Away Renée played back to back. Wonderful!

Then came an excursion into folk, with an all too brief version ofThe Keel Row, complete with an imaginative reggae intro. Dirty Old Town followed. For lovers of trivia, there had already been a couple of tacit references to Kirsty McColl (can you spot them?) in the course of the evening, and this one was written by her dad. Then came an instrumental, which left me rather confused. It is down on the set-list as Speed. The intro, played on accordion, sounded like the chorus of Meet Me on the Corner, and after that, a lengthy acoustic guitar solo by Les ensued. It sounded fine, but left me feeling disorientated. Two more songs I didn't know, On The Run, and Brown Eyed Girl. Then, Lily of the West, here sung in the manner of an Irish folk song, which I know as the opening track on Dylan's A Fool Such As I. Then Willin', and an encore of the Rolling Stones' The Last Time, though as Marty says, he hopes it won't be, and so do I. A thoroughly enjoyable set, and maybe next time I will have a clearer idea of what is going on.

Marty was on brilliant form, and the new set-up serves as a great showcase for his multi- instrumental talents. Les stuck to acoustic guitar throughout, and Brian to his accordion. Marty sang lead vocals, introducing harmonicas, sax, tin whistle, accordion, maracas and whatever else one after the other. Now we know where his mind was at in those last days with Lindisfarne, when he stood there shaking a jif lemon and looking bored. This was an eclectic performance indeed, drawing on a formidable array of sources and inspirations. Marty cites the common Celtic connection for his convincing rendition of Irish music, and taken all in all he comes over as a Zelig complex set to music. I am happy and relieved that Lindisfarne's stray cat has found such a good home, and it is reassuring to find that Walker was not after all the end of the line. I'm sure that I'll catch up with Marty and his felicitous felines again, somewhere down the road.

There was a rather surreal moment after the show, when I had a brief chat with Brian. I made reference to his accordion playing on Another Fine Mess, but neither he nor Marty seemed to have any idea what I was talking about. No doubt they struggled with my accent, which is considerably more ‘northern' than theirs.

Surreal moment number two had come a short while before when I realised that there was a lady present who was engaging in the same bizarre pattern of behaviour as myself, ie scribbling away in a note-book, while everyone else was busy enjoying themselves. She turned out to be Jillian Whiting from the Berwickshire Advertiser, and I am very happy to be able to state that she has reviewed this wonderful event in far more lucid, articulate and informed terms than myself.

Just the same, it was a great night, you should have been there. There has been a great feeling in the Barrels both times I've been there. It really is a brilliant venue. A little way down the street, there is a record shop, with cd's by Rod Clements and Steve Daggett in the window, accompanied by a notice ‘You've seen them at the Barrels, now hear them at home'. It's that kind of place, and a Lindisfarne enthusiast feels instantly at home. Steve, incidentally, was among those present, and once again he was a most able master of ceremonies. It was a pleasure to have him check my ticket.

Every Friday night should be like this!