Yo ho ahoy!
Here’s the tale of an offbeat and interesting gig outing the Old Bank in Keynsham last Saturday.
We’d been contacted by the booking agent during the week to pass on a message from the venue that it was to be a “Harry Potter themed” evening.
“What you are supposed to so with this information, I don’t know”, he added, “But they were very keen to let you know”.
O-kay.
We didn’t know what to do with this information either, but as it turned out, we saw not a single sign of any Potter-isms, so perhaps the punters didn’t know what to make of it either.
Upon arriving, however, we did find something unexpected – that we were to be playing outside.
This would have been particularly useful for poor Steve to know in advance; having the previous day had both flu and covid jabs administered, he was suffering quite badly – I walked in to find him wrapped up like Scott of the Antarctic, shivering and teeth chattering.
Still, nothing for it but to carry on with the show.
As it turned out, once we got set up and were jumping around a bit, the stage (which was at least covered) wasn’t too bad at all.
The audience were quite lively and appreciative, and all was going rather well, until I espied a group of young gentlemen coming in, all wearing matching sports tops (I couldn’t tell you if their allegiance was football, rugby, or something else, but I can tell you they were not very good at drinking).
I was in fact reminded by an observation made by the marvellous Philomena Cunk, during one of her highly recommended educational programmes, about classical ancient Greek culture: –
“The Greeks even invented a special kind of theatre for stupid people.”
“They called it “sport””.
Anyhow, once this band of funsters made their way up the front, after a few minutes of spilling beer on the monitors, one of them fell over one.
They were ushered away, but returned to knock one of the PA speakers over; fortunately, nothing was broken so we just had the clowns sent to the back to annoy people back there instead.
Between sets, Stuart and I were accosted by a friendly lady, who opened the conversation with the remarkable line,
“Do you two like butter”?
Our puzzlement is apparent, but she continues anyway.
“I love butter, me. Do you know how expensive butter is? D’you know how much it costs for a pack of butter these days? Not cheap, nasty, imitation stuff, I mean, real, proper butter? Four quid? Five quid maybe? Perhaps a bit less if you’ve got a Tesco Clubcard, but even then you’ll be talking £3.80 or something like that. I mean, it’s pretty expensive, butter is. Real butter”
And then she turns and walks away, leaving Stu and I looking bemusedly at each other.
I am impressed – it’s not often I meet someone who is more baffling and bemusing than Stuart.
Before we can muster anything to say, she suddenly returns, clutching a small pack of – you guessed it – butter.
“Look at this. I got it from the deli over the road. Two pound fifty. That’s a bargain, that is. I mean, it’s not quite as big as a full-sized tub, but it’s a good size. And it was only two pounds fifty. And it’s proper stuff, that is. Look – see – it says here, it was made in Yeovilton. Lovely bit of butter, this is. I’m going to have this on toast in the morning I am, I can’t wait. I do love a bit of proper butter, I do…”
At this point, a young man approaches.
“Ah, there you are” he says to her. “I wondered where you’d got to”.
He turns to Stu and myself.
“Has she been talking about butter again?”
We nod dumbly.
“It’s a miracle she can talk at all, really, she’s been here since one o’clock. Come on love, let’s go over here…”, and he leads her gently away.
It is only afterwards, as we are packing the gear away, that it finally occurs to me we have missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to play that Joan Jett anthem classic: –
“I Love Kerrygold”.
Dammit!
Right, then – this Saturday, we’ll be out and about at Clevedon United Football Club.
We might see you there.
Bring your own butter.
Square on
A