Well, we had no gig on Friday, which gave me a chance to re-rebuild my amp, this time with all the right bits, possibly even in the right places; and, so, bright and early (just in case they weren’t in the right places), it was down to the lovely Golden Fleece in Bath on Saturday for a touch of biker pub rawk action. It’s quite a cosy little end they have to set up a band in, and so my usual playing position here is tucked behind a speaker and a wall, with no view of any punters unless they’re right up at the front.
As happens quite often, for most of the first set the punters concentrated sensibly on drinking as much as possible, so that once they were ready to appear in front of us for some dancing action, they were pretty well oiled. One particularly enthusiastic leaper-abouter explained herself thus to me, shouting out between songs, “Oi’m a sheep farmer, see! Oi don’t get very much, so oi loikes to make the most of it when oi do!”
Indeed. It’s funny, you know, that people always assume Bath to be such a genteel city.
Somewhere near the end of the first set, our ovine husbandry specialist, who’s been lent one of our tambourines to keep her amused, manages to hit it so hard that little bits of it are left raining down over the crowd for several seconds (it’s just at this point that I remember that this is the pub where we previously had a tambo spontaneously explode in the crowd in remarkably similar circumstances).
“Oi’m really sorry!” she giggles, “Oi said Oi don’t get out much…”
We’re feeling lucky, so we round off the first set with a classic cheese number which we only started working on at Thursday’s rehearsal. Despite being played “a bit lumpy”, as Ben aptly described it, it goes down a storm; so, guess we better finish learning it then, for next time.
We take a break, during which Ben and I attempt to recreate the movie Jaws using only a couple of beer bottles (and, I might add, with some considerable success); and then it’s into the second set, which includes mass audience participation, leaping about, falling over, and one or two attempts at erotic dancing which really should have been performed in private.
A few well-chosen encores, and then it’s time to pack up, and once the van is loaded we chase Stuart around the pub until he is cornered and forced to hand over the dosh.
And, it seems we’ll have to make it last – with no gigs coming up this weekend, it looks as though the Rock’n’roll cashpoint is closed for refurbishment.
And there you have it – basically, all things considered, Oi don’t get out much…