Yowsa!
Well, there weren’t that many punters in at the Dolphin on Saturday, but those that were provided good value entertainment – starting before we’d even managed to play a note.
Just before we started, as I was returning to the stage from what we musical professionals refer to as a “tactical leak”, and Stuart was sitting head in hands waiting for the rest of us to come back, I heard on of the nice cheeky ladies at the bar ask him,
“Are you all right, love? Do you want a hug?”
Hello playmates
Well, another weekend, another gig, another few beers down the hatch, and a few more dB’s notched up on the tinnitus threshold…what’s not to like?
Friday’s jaunt to the Air Balloon in Filton was rather pleasant – it wasn’t until we soundchecked that we remembered how much they like joining in here. A couple of horny-handed sons of toil even joined in with the loading in – albeit mercifully briefly – after watching two of them puffing and panting, struggling to haul my small amp up a few steps, nearly dropping it in the process, I was quite relieved when they decided that was enough for them, and went back to their lager-quaffing.
Aloha!
And a warm welcome to this week’s little episode of rawk’n’roll strangeness.
I’ll keep this one fairly short, as it’s too nice a day to be sat inside banging away on a keyboard for the dubious benefit of you lot…
Friday night at the lovely Railway Tav in Fishponds, and a huge fun gig, enlivened by the presence of Stuart’s lovely sister, who had come all the way over from Canada, for the sole purpose of seeing us*. It was also enlivened by lots of punters jigging merrily around all night, and I personally was particularly pleased by the nice ladies who were queuing up afterwards to buy us all a beer. I like it when that happens.
Hey folks
A weekend of contrasts in rawk – Friday night at the Giant Goram in Lawrence Weston – always a rather informal affair – was enlivened by the presence of our new best mate Tia, who spent the first set dancing around enthusiastically to everything, and then at half-time appeared with a large tray of shots for the band.
We rather liked her.
Even more so when she told us the tale of the last time she went out to see a band.
“I don’t get out much…”, she tells us, “…So anyway, the last time I went out to see a band, I was having such a great time, I was dancing around so much that I was sick on the floor”.
Ahoy there shipmates!
A whole weekend off, which turned out to be no bad thing in some ways, as last week was – well, a bit of a bugger, really, for some of us.
On the other hand, most weeks turn out to be a bit of a bugger, one way or another, and there really is nothing more therapeutic that jumping around making a bloody loud noise. I heartily recommend it, I’m sure it’s much more effective at relieving stress than the “meditative colouring books” I recently noticed for sale. I can’t help feeling that if your troubles can be resolved by sitting down for an hour with a pack of felt tips, you probably don’t have enough troubles.
Yo homeys
Well, that was an odd one. We fetched up at the Anchor in Bishopston on Saturday, to find the the nice little stage area they used to have has been taken down and covered with tables and chairs and punters, and we instead were presented with an “intimate” space to set up in. After a little head-scratching and moving a few affable customers over, we managed to shoehorn ourselves in.
The pub itself was rammed full of footy fans – the match just up the road had just finished, plus there was another game on telly – so much so that the door staff were operating a “one in, one out” policy – meaning that several folks who’d come to see us actually couldn’t get in until the second set, when most of the soccer fans had had their fill of lager and were feeling quite tired and ready for bed.
Aloha!
[Editor’s Note: I accept that the image that goes with this post may be in bad taste; I just can’t figure out in what context.]
Well well well, three gigs in a weekend, it’s getting just like the old days. We arrived at the Millhouse in Emerson’s Green, bagged the cheeky last parking spaces, and hauled in. As we suspected, this was a “family pub”, not used to having bands on – although I did like the fact that we were told “You can store your empty cases in the Wacky Warehouse”…
Helloo there, my little Easter bunnies.
We hope you enjoyed the extended weekend, and trust you were all suitably solemn in remembrance of what this important religious festival commemorates; the true meaning of Easter, that time of year when Jesus skips merrily around the countryside with a basket of chocolate for all the little children.
Something like that, anyway; I must confess I wasn’t really paying attention to that part in school.
Right, well we had a fine couple of evenings gigging; although, having had at least two sleeps since then, I can’t really remember anything much about them. Except the owls. The owls…
Good morning!
I really am beginning to think I’m getting too old for this…
Maybe it’s time I took to playing slide guitar instead, sitting on my back porch in a rocking chair and playing s-l-o-w blues riffs. Thing is, I’d need to get a dog, probably – I suspect it’s written somewhere in the Blues Byelaws.
Of which there are quite a number, come to think of it; for example, the list of permissible Blues Beverages (permitted: black coffee, red wine, bourbon whiskey; forbidden: Lucozade, chai latte, Prosecco).
And a warm welcome to this festive, and almost certainly last edition this year, of our regular-ish gig blog.
I didn’t manage to put one of these out last week, which I shall blame on time constraints, as “incompetence” is such an ugly word, isn’t it? I can, however, dimly recall a few snippets of the last couple of gigs…
It turns out that the Packhorse in Lawrence Hill is indeed still run by the Angels, and a mighty friendly bunch they were, we all had a jolly fine time, and will be back there again next year. As I write this, it’s only just occurred to me that possibly one reason we were so popular was that – due to driving constraints – we didn’t take too much advantage of their mighty fine “free beer for musos” policy (one which, as regular readers will know, I have been a staunch supporter of for many years).
The following night, a corporate Christmas party in a posh bistro right in the centre of swanky Cheltenham, had a rather different vibe.
We arrived, and, miraculously found two parking spaces right outside the back of the venue. Hurrah! Then upon gaining entry to the place, we find that we are to be playing in a function room up two flights of stairs. Boo!
Ben pales visibly at the thought of exercise. I decide we must invoke what is known in the band as “Rum Bar protocol” (named after a venue for which access is gained only via three flights of rickety iron outdoor fire escape), which basically means all spare and not-absolutely-necessary equipment is sifted out and left locked in the van at Base Camp, so that no backup amps or speaker cabs, leads, etc need be manhauled up to higher altitudes. Spare batteries are grudgingly permitted, as is the muttered refrain “I wish I’d learned the $%^ing piccolo”.
After a prolonged period of stumping up and down, we decide there is just enough kit up there, and slowly moods improve as we set up.
Once we start, it turns out that the crowd are very much up for it; we particularly enjoyed one very serious-looking lady (think “senior librarian”) who, immediately we started, began dancing in a most extravagant and enthusiastic fashion – we suspect she doesn’t get out that much. After a while, everybody else joins in. Finally the very pleasant staff are begging us to stop playing so that they can pack up and go home.
Having packed up, and taken full advantage of their expensive-looking buffet to give us the necessary strength, we have just enough energy to haul all the kit back down to ground level and bully it back into the vehicles before shambling off into the night.
Right then, coming up next – here’s our full Festive Season Itinererererary, for your delectation and delight: –
Saturday 22nd – Farmhouse, Yate
Not played here for quite some time, and what with it being the official drinking season, should be rather lively. And there are no stairs involved.
Monday 24th – The Sandringham, Downend
Christmas Eve at the Sandy (as I am pretty sure absolutely nobody calls it), we did this one last year and had a very fine time. So we’re expecting to do the same again, frankly. And there are no stairs involved.
Saturday 29th – Queen Vic, Stroud
Ooh, I’d actually totally forgotten about this gig until I looked at the list to write this. Marvellous! One of our favourite regular gigs, I’m actually beginning to get excited already. With a bit of luck, I might be able to get my beloved Dem along as well, just to scare the locals a bit. And there are no stairs involved.
Monday 31st – Royal Oak, Chipping Sodbury
New Year’s Eve, a nice lively little pub, and us. What’s not to like? And – now here’s a thing – there are no stairs involved.
And, that’ll be about it for this year; I’d like to say thanks to all the lovely and entertaining people we’ve met along the way, we’ve had a blast – and I like to think that maybe on the odd occasion we’ve actually managed to entertain some people along the way (in addition to ourselves).
Finally, I have to say huge thanks to my bandidos Stuart, Emma, and Ben, who make the whole enterprise such a joy and a delight – despite the occasional stairs, I really don’t know what I’d do without the opportunity to regularly prance about making a dreadful noise with a bunch of like-minded idiots.
Very much looking forward to doing it all over again next year….
Square on
A
