In the past I’ve made no secret of liking Tommy’s Bar – I believe it is the best venue in Cardiff for atmosphere and is staffed by some of the nicest people in the capital. Even if I happened to be working late I’ll make an effort to go over if I can, and it was desperately that I raced over. By the time I had got the – 10.30pm – I was convinced I had missed Race Horses and believed my entire trip and stomach stitch were for no good cause at all…

Thankfully the soundcheck was ridiculously late, and I arrived having missed only one song. Phew.

Tommy’s was busy for Race Horses, and after pushing through the 150 odd that had come to see the former Radio Luxembourg outfit and procuring a beer, I found a spot at the front and realised that, for the first time in my short time i’ve ever seen at the art college, the front two or three rows of people were all fluent Welsh speakers. This “surprise” quickly recedes into nothing of the sort once you realise that Radio Lux, as they are still known by many, are among the most popular of Welsh language acts and are well liked within that scene. So, actually being asked to move out of the way in Cymraeg is really not much to write home about, or at least this ignorant writer should have expected it.

So do Race Horses have much to hold for a monoglot like me? Loads, actually. For a start a good deal of their material is actually in English, and in any case you can barely distinguish one lyric from another even if they were in your native tongue. They are like a continuation of Gorkys, but more on the Poodle Rockin’ end of their spectrum – energetic and high tempo. This is accompanied by a kind of glam-twee representation, lead singer wearing shiny disco jacket, another in 70s hippy gear. I don’t know if the choice of jacket was a good one really, considering he was stood directly under a bright light and was sweating like a cod in shallow water. Towards the end of the show, he in fact started to project said beads to the audience in front of him – one part slightly ming another like watching a rather lovely firework go off.

But made of man juice. Ick.