Right, then, lad, wi’ no gigs t’report on, this’ll be a short’un.’Appen.
Er – I’m afraid that’s my entire stock of cheery Northern witticisms used up, except that there’s something about whippets, but I really don’t recall the details.
Never mind. Although somebody did mention this week, whilst idly gazing at a box of Yorkshire tea while the kettle was boiling, that despite having been to Yorkshire several times over the years, she “never did recall seeing any of the plantations”, which rather made me chuckle.
I’ll have to ask Ben, he’s bound to know where they are.
Actually, come to think of it, I haven’t actually seen any of my lovely bandmates for over a week now, I do hope they’re all well. Come to that, I rather hope I am too.
I did manage to fill the gigging void this weekend with a quick set at a family bash with my offspring band (not a tribute to the cheeky Californian skate punk funsters, but simply a band consisting exclusively – apart from me – of my offspring). I suspect that they let me play only because it’s my van.
I had been hoping to set off the fire alarm with the smoke machine, but Dem beat me to it by setting it off with the birthday cake fireworks. We were very proud of her.
I don’t get to play with my kids very often, for which I think they are rather grateful.
Anyway, at least it gave me a chance to remind myself of a few songs, which may come in rather useful this Saturday…
Saturday 16th – The Golden Fleece, Bath
A jolly little pub, nice and friendly and with a clientele ranging from bikers to Glamorous Margaret, our favourite octogenarian rock fan, and several other ladies of a certain age, who – now I come to think of it – appeared to be taking rather a keen interest in our Stuart last time we were there. Now I’ve remembered about that, I am looking forward to the evening even more than I was before…