Ogres, gremlins and ultimate sunshine.

If you had to write just one word on my tombstone (and I know many of you may already be in the queue), for my money it would be ‘easy–going’.
Now; two things immediately happen here, the first is that Carol has fallen off her perch, and you, Gentle Reader, realise that counting and I have a friendly, but only nodding, acquaintance.

So why such rumination? Only one thing for it.

Welcome, and read on…

FG is nearly two. Fancy that, two years ago you were free from the imaginary 17th century prog-folk world that my febrile mind created then exploited its musical wealth in a fashion not seen since the mine owners of the Industrial Revolution.[1]

Two years only it has taken for us to rise from obscurity and stay there.

Well, not quite. We have spent two years(ish) playing the clubs, making music, learning, refining and learning some more. We have had more fun than it is wise to shake a stick at, and we have made some wonderful friends and become part of a musical community that frankly, is just lovely. Our name appears on posters, just under the scrawled graffiti that says “oh God”.

I must learn to spell ‘Good’.

So; tombstones? Easy-Going? Seems to hint at darker undertones, what? Well yes, in a way. We have lately realised that the fairy tale world of folk music has its own Ogres. They aren’t green, taloned[2], or needlessly hairy, but they are there, sad, but there you are, real life invades, so I shall have to allow some real life into my own fairy tale and simply suggest; ‘s*d ‘em’[3].

Ah, I feel better now. Breathe innnnn, breathe ouuuttttt.

This week, Poorly Parent Problems permitting, and it does get rather more difficult, we went to Croxdale FC and had a pleasant, if quiet night. We are going to do a guest night there after the turn of the year, so you can all jolly well expect a rallying call, or it may be that another club (to paraphrase Mr F Mercury) bites the dust.

Last night, we for Richmond FC. If you have not been, this club is held in the Swaledale Outdoor Centre, upstairs in a stone built barn like building. Tons of character, tons of audience and really, really nice folks. A great singing crowd this, so if you go, take your chorus songs. We just did three (those of you in the know realise that’s 90 minutes) and went down gratifyingly well. We’re back in August for a Charity Night and may beg a place on the guest roster if all goes well. Nice to see Sue and Dave Swales, we for their club afore the sun goes down on this year.

New songs rear their heads, my Scottish (imaginary 17th Century world so it ain’t Scotland) rising song is slowly, slowly taking shape, but the muse has bitten in the form of a more factual Ned Ludd song, based on the Croppers and the Luddite movement. If it works out, you’ll hear it before long – ‘tis VERY Fool’s Gold, harmony, timing change, counterpoint, I wonder what they are?

A shorty this week, methinks, let’s not our welcome outstay, so as the auto-tuner of modernity is defeated by the banjo of smugness and the new b string of destiny sings the ‘piiiiing’ song of fate, I notice it’s the end of this blog.

Until next time Acoustic Chums,

Keep Strummin’


[1] I had not, until this point, realised that Industrial Mine Owners were necessarily musical, but, there you go.

[2] At least, not in the usual sense.

[3] Believe me, that’s the clean version.

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