Oh, the madness continues. After two weeks off, a jet lagged Stuart is just back from Cuba, Lou is barely able to stand up having blistered her feet into oblivion by foolishly going running (it’s not like she doesn’t have a car), and Ben and I are both knackered sideways from working… and we have a Harley Owner’s Group rally to play.
Actually, I think we held it all together rather well. For the first set, and most of the second, it all went swimmingly, with much singing along, dancing, whooping, and general silliness; then, suddenly, most of the merry bikers disappeared off the dance floor, not to be seen again.
Was it something we said? Had we made some horrible musical faux pas?
We asked they guys at the bar afterwards.
“Not your fault”, they told us.
“They get tired easily at that age”.
I look over at Stuart, who is staring absent-mindedly into space, and drooling slightly.
Yes, I see.
Saturday night, and what looks like it’s going to be a very quiet night indeed – having arrived, we outnumber the punters; even if you include their dogs. Still, once we stumbled our way in and set up, there are few more two-legged customers in, so off we go. The place continues to fill and a certain amount of dancing gets going.
There’s a World Cup match playing silently on the telly over the bar, and Lou announces “.. And this next song is dedicated to…who’s playing…? Germany and Ghana? Right then, this song’s for Ghana!”
After the number finishes, she asks whether we’d helped Ghana score. “No, but Germany did…”
My suggestion that we should now play the song again, only backwards, to even things out; is quashed by Ben, who points out that if we tell Stuart to play backwards he’ll spend twenty minutes rearranging his drum kit so it faces the opposite direction.
As the first set ends, Lou asks the bar staff what the final footy score was. “Two-all?”
“So, that’s free shots all round then, isn’t it….”
Gotta love the girl for trying.
Halfway through the second session of noisiness, in through door stroll our beaming buddies Gina and Lucy, who we’ve not seen in ages; they’ve just come from a wedding, they snuck away early to come and see us (aww) and it seems half the rest of the wedding guests followed them over…
The night ends as a hot sweaty jolly mess, ladies rocking out with inflatable guitars all over the place, and when it’s past shut-up time we gratefully flump down in a heap for a natter; until eventually it becomes clear that the kit isn’t going to pack itself away, and we have to put the toys back to bed.
Coming up next weekend – another of those weekends off, as Stuart is off to revisit his hippy roots at Glastonbury.
I leave you with the delightful image of him, off his chops on magic mushrooms, silhouetted dancing naked on top of the Tor as the sun rises…
We may be back in a couple of weeks if we can raise the bail money…