Well hello there…
And, after a whole week away (for me at least spent in sunny Franceland, many miles away from the nearest guitar), Saturday night at the Old Neighbourhood near Stroud was always going to be an interesting evening… Would I remember the songs? Could I actually manage to play them? Had I ever been able to? And what were they anyway?
Such minor concerns were swept away by the more important questions of what to dress up as. Despite being in possession of a large case of assorted Halloween costumes, wigs, and masks, I remembered from previous years that actually while wearing them you can’t see, you can’t breathe, and, most importantly, you can’t drink. Accordingly it was off to the local cheap’n’nasty shop, to invest a whole pound in some kiddy face paints. Then it’s just a case of bribing daughter to creatively apply them to create a suitably undead appearance, and then dig out some torn-up clothes to complete the zombie effect. This last bit is easy; I go the bottom of the drawer for my old biking cut off, which even after all these years still carries the faint aroma of “beer, engine oil, and every conceivable body fluid”.
