Well folks, I’m not sure if that was a terrible weekend, or a great one.
Terrible, because – and apologies to anybody who tried to come along to see us on Friday – we had to cancel, because my road, which features an admittedly gentle incline, was made totally impassable by a hefty wodge of white snowy stuff. I watched out the window as several of my neighbours made heroic, but utterly doomed attempts, to get their cars out, before abandoning them somewhere near the curb.
So – sorry ‘bout that folks, we hate to cancel gigs (not just ‘cause we need the money, either!), but there really was no way we could have made that one without a team of huskies.
I don’t have a team of huskies. I do have a small force of clockwork penguins at my disposal, but at 2 inches high, their load-carrying capacity is minimal, so reluctantly we had to give up on that one.
On the other hand, the inclement weather did provoke the following Storm Emma headline in dreadful rag the Super Soaraway Sun: –
We’re keeping that.
Saturday dawned fair and bright, and a welcome thaw had set in, so we figured we’d have no trouble getting to the gig this time. As my van – left with my local garage the day before, and still trapped down there – was u/s, I commandeered Ben to drive up to mine, and after a little head-scratching and unaccustomed cogitation, we managed to squeeze in just enough kit to play a gig shared between his car and Dem’s.
I was still feeling pretty damned terrible from the Kitten Lung, and Ben wasn’t much better; but we got to the Huntsman without incident, and, paddling through the slush, hauled the kit inside. Inside the pub, as is traditional in colder weather, it was heated to furnace-like temperatures, but we managed to get everything set up and working without anyone passing out.
I’m delighted to see some chums of mine from work in attendance, and even more pleased to see three of them are sporting checked shirts. Now, if only we had some comedy cowboy hats…Oooh look, what’s this in the toy box?
About three songs in, it’s time to play something suitable rednecky, and Em runs out to force them to wear the humiliating headgear. Aren’t we kind?
It’s a Slightly odd evening, the audience is generally appreciative, and includes at least one almost too-enthusiastic young lady, dancing and leaping and bounding around with gay abandon right in front of us. I got worn out just watching her.
We’d forgotten that there’s a music curfew, and so we have to cut out a couple of numbers out of the second set; but we still manage to play fifteen minutes over… nobody seemed to mind.
We’re also delighted to find our charming pal Tiff in attendance; she comes up and plays a guest spot on bass during All Right Now – I’d forgotten we used to get folks up to do that – and have a nice chat with her afterwards. She not seen Em sing with us before, so I introduce them…
“Em, this is our lovely friend Tiff. Tiff, this is…… EMMAGEDDON!!!”
“Emma Geddon? Your name is actually Emma Geddon? Oh my god, that’s brilliant!”
Em looks at me helplessly. We’re both too tired to explain, so we roll with it.
“Yes, that’s right, Emma Geddon…”
A fairly efficient packing up, a wading through the slush to load the cars back up again, and then it’s off into the night.
So – no gigs booked this weekend, but just maybe time to shake off the horrible Kitten Lung ailments, and perhaps even whatever malady has been ailing my poor little van.
Finger crossed, y’all…