Hey gang
Another fun night out in Keynsham; up at the Trout, where there was the usual messy beer-spilling mayhem from the locals. My favourite moment of the evening occurred when Rosa decides she needs the whole pub to join with a dance move – and asks for suggestions from the audience. When none are forthcoming, as usual she picks on someone.
“You there, the lady at the back – what’s your name?”
“Er…it’s Theresa…”
“Right, Theresa, show everybody your favourite dance move”.
Well hello there; do come in, we’ve been expecting you…
Right then, what just happened this weekend? Anybody remember?
This is the problem with having too nice a time at the weekend, and thinking “Oh, bugger it, I’ll write the blog up on Monday” – you can’t remember anything that happened before yesterday.
I could try making something up, but that doesn’t usually end well. Tell you what, if you lot write in and tell me what you’d like me to make up for next week, I’ll do that. Actually – here’s a better idea – you lot write in and tell me what style you’d like next week’s episode to be written in – since we’ve already covered film noire and swords-and-sorcery fantasy, you could choose (for example) a Western, a sci-fi theme, soy thriller, or anything else that take your fancy. Personally, I’d like something featuring lime jelly and lots of cheerleaders, but it’s your call.
Aloha!
Well, guess what, another weekend, another couple of gigs…
After last weekend’s little surprise, we were hoping that nobody was going to take their top off during a gig.
Well, they didn’t…
Friday at the Tern in Yate was worthy of mention though, it was enlivened by a bunch who were in celebrating somebody’s birthday, and they all managed to get themselves into a rather advanced state of disrepair. Thus it was that we got some fairly lively audience interaction going on; in particular, one rather hirsute young gentleman, who was so keen to join in that when Rosa introduced an Amy Winehouse number by asking if there was anybody named Amy in the room, he raised his hand enthusiastically and shouted “Me! Me!”… Similarly, when Rosa commented on the warm weather, asking if anybody had had to resort to sunblock yet, he also piped up, “Yes, I did! I had to, I’m as ginger as f*&k!”.
Yo homeys! [Editor’s note: I think he means “Hello”]
Well, more mad fun in the world of rawk’n’roll. Friday night, and the King William IV in Bath turns out to be a small pub, with only-just-enough-room to set up in, provided that Ben and I don’t mind both each playing hidden behind a PA speaker, and provided that they’re not actually using the pool table which is right next to where I have to go.
They are (inevitably) using the pool table all night, so I find myself trying to play solos whilst ducking under the back of a pool cue, simultaneously making sure the bumblewit poolies aren’t treading all over my pedals every time they try to take a shot.
Goooooood morning!
Another weekend, another fantastic time…. Friday night, and since it’s my beautiful Dem’s birthday, we have persuaded her to come along with us to the Cat & Wheel, with daughter Lil as an escort. (That’s not in the sense of “working as an escort”, you understand, just “escorting Dem”. I mean, the extra cash always comes in handy, but everybody needs a night off now and then…)
Anyhoo, my lovely two were just into their second pint, and the kit was just about set up, when our ol’ pals John & Adam rolled in, and in true chivalrous fashion took charge of supervising the girls’ alcohol intake for the evening – with extremely successful results.
Yo homeys!
Well, that was fun; as it happened, we ended up playing 2 gigs this weekend, since we got a call to cover a cancellation on Friday at the Red Lion in Paulton, way down in deepest darkest Zummerzet. We were set up at one end of the pub, while the bar and all the punters were down half a flight of stairs; having played this kind of set up before, we knew that it was going to be hard work dragging the punters up the stairs to join us. As it turned out, it took us until nearly half way through the first set before Rosa succeeded in bullying them to come up and start enjoying themselves.
Ah, there you, 007. Take a seat, and listen carefully…
Another slightly mad weekend, starting in the Trout up in sunny Keynsham; after a fairly quiet start, by the end of the first set, the place was livening up nicely; a shame, then, that I somehow completely forgot how to play the intro to the last song of the first set.
“Oh, f**k”, I tell Ben, “It’s gone. I have no idea how it goes. Complete blank. Can’t even guess”
“Just make something up, then” he sagely advises.
So I do; and we get clean away with it. This rock’n’roll stuff turns out to be rather easy, as long as you don’t worry about getting it right.
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”.
Hey gang
Another busy weekend in the exciting world of rawk’n’roll, Friday at the Parson’s Nose in Melksham started with an empty pub – but since they didn’t want us to start playing until half ten, by the time we got going, the place was nice and busy. While we were waiting, poor Stooie was so exhausted after his long hard day that he fell asleep in one of the pub’s comfy sofas, so the other three of us amused ourselves with such innocent impromptu pub game pastimes as “catch the beer mat in your mouth”, which rapidly evolved into “how many beer mats can you pile on the sleeping drummer”, and ended up with us all wearing Mexican wrestling masks whilst trying to put a blonde wig on Stuart without waking him. Sadly, he was roused by the squeals of laughter from nearby tables, so alas our plans were thwarted.
Good morning campers!
A relatively uneventful weekend, only one gig, and that was half acoustic, so it doesn’t completely count, to my mind – even though (as usual) I managed to win the regular “Who’s going to make the most cock-ups” contest that Lily and I regularly have; I spent most of the rest of the weekend up Londonwards, making a rare trip to see me dear old mum, and continue the sequential process of moving the contents of the local B & Q into her house…
The rest of the time was spent groaning at the entries you lot sent in for last week’s “bakery-themed rock song” contest.
