Hello playmates!
We’re back to the joys of gigging again, just as I was beginning to forget how weird things can get sometimes…
Friday’s outing to the Crab Apple in Clevedon was enlivened by the presence of a few old chums, and we were delighted to see our lovely pal and occasional special guest vocalist Paige there.
But – what’s this? She’s got her arm strapped up in a serious-looking sling contraption? What’s happened?
“Broken collarbone”.
And how did she manage this?
“Motorcycle accident, last week. I was riding merrily along and a deer jumped out of the bushes right in front of me. Didn’t even have time to brake or try to swerve around it. So now I’ve got this.”
“And…how’s the bike?”
“Oh, that can be mended”, she replies breezily.
“And…how’s the deer?”
“Ah. That can’t be mended…I basically cut it in half”.
I seem to recall that you’re legally allowed to pick up roadkill and take it home to eat, as long as it wasn’t you that hit it. I just about managed to stop myself asking exactly where this unfortunate incident happened, just in case it was still there…
Despite her injuries, Paige is still game for jumping up and singing a few tunes with us, and nicely rounds off an evening where (with the rest of us not having played for about six weeks) we were all a little concerned how much we could remember.
Turns out we’re consummate professionals, who’da thunk?
Our confidence boosted, we rock up at the Raglan on Saturday; as usual they’re a pretty lively bunch. Chatting to cheery landlady Michelle at half time, our curiosity is aroused as we espy their notice board announcing upcoming attractions; one of which is a night of “naughty bingo”.
What, we ask of Michelle, exactly is, “naughty bingo?”
“Oh, it’s BRILLIANT it is”, she enthuses, “It’s really good. Basically, it’s like regular bingo – but the prizes are all a bit naughty, like kinky underwear and sex toys and all that. We all have a really good laugh. You’ll have to all come along to the next one, it’s brilliant fun”.
We look around at the denizens of the pub. Glamorous erotic appeal is conspicuous by its absence. Funnily enough, it turns out that we are all scheduled to be washing our hair on that particular night.
Still, it has given me a rather fine idea for an album title.
It’s a shame that Frank Zappa is no longer with us; I am pretty sure I could have sold him the rights to the album name “Michelle’s Dildo Bingo”.
We’re not gigging this weekend, which will give you time to think about that before we come and pester your Inboxes again…
Square on
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