Yoho ahoy!
My, that was an eventful weekend.
Friday’s jaunt to Newport went off rather well – in no small part thanks to delightful barmaid Kelly, who directed us to somewhere relatively close where we could unload; she even threw herself into a parking slot when it opened up to save it for us, and then insisted on helping us carry all the kit in. Another pleasant surprise was that not only do they have a nice-sized stage but there is also a house PA and lights all set up and running, so much less heavy stuff to drag in.
Upon learning that it was Stuart’s birthday and that we’d brought a cake in for him, Kelly even found some candles and presented it to him at the start of the second set, while Abby led the crowd singing Happy Birthday. We never did find out how old he is, but it does seem plausible that he genuinely can’t remember any longer.
On top of all that, it was a jolly fine evening, with dancing and singing along a-plenty; nonetheless, my favourite memory is of an old film poster I spotted at the side of the stage…
I wonder if it won any Oscars…?
Saturday’s jaunt to the Fire Engine was hard work, but had its rewarding moments… The place is quite cramped, and where I have set up is basically on the main track to the toilets, so there is a constant stream of people trying to walk through my guitar headstock while I’m playing; however, the main issue was that, even when we arrived, everyone in the pub seemed to be already raucously pissed…
So, we were treated to the drunken dancing and falling over monitors, the knocking over of mike stands and generally getting under our feet, the almost-toppling of the lighting rig, the twat who was trying to get me to look at something on his phone while I was playing a solo, and – worst of all – the posse of baying drunk women who Really Really Really Loved our Abby, so much so they actually rather scared her.
On the plus side, there was a tiny woman (four foot six, I guess), sixty if she was a day, dressed in black tights and a pink tutu, who, on espying our Ben when he was singing lead on one song, bellowed, “Oooh, ‘e’s sexy, look at ‘im! Oooh, oi’d ‘ave ‘im, I would” and spent the rest of the track leering lecherously at him and Vic Reeves-esquely rubbing her thighs.
Somehow Ben found this less amusing than I did, and while packing up afterwards I noticed he was careful not to turn his back…
We have a weekend off this week – Ben and Abby both presumably spending at least some of it in therapy – but we’ll be back again, soon, have no fear.
Except for you, Ben. Be afraid. Be very, very afraid…
Square on
A