Hadaway

Have I told you the one about the American Tourist driving through Central Newcastle late one winter evening?

Apparently he was in collision with the little Geordie taxi driver, and leapt from his car, and demanded of Geordie the name of his insurance company.

It seems the good tourist spent the next few days fruitlessly combing the city for the learned partners of ‘Hadaway and S***e’

But Law? Litigation? Legal Shenanigans?

Am I of interest to the Beak?[1]

As ever, there can be but one method of finding out what is happening in the world of FG.

Be welcome, Gentle Reader, and read on…

 

Rest easy, those Gentle Readers of nervous disposition. I use an old gag merely to draw attention to the fact that behind an apparently ludicrous story, there might be just the faintest glimmer of truth.

As it happens, the articled chambers of Hadaway and S***e never did exist, but the offices of solicitors Hadaway & Hadaway did. They used to be just above the old Mawson, Swan and Morgan on the corner of Grey Street and Hood Street. Now, not only does their very name serve as an ample demonstration of the fact that the legal profession can, when it suits them, be capable of refreshing candour, but as I intimated before, there’s no smoke without fire.

Why this bush beating?

Some folks out there suspect that I[2] actually make my songs up!

The very idea!

I mean, imagine. Fancy being able to think of a story yourself, make it (reasonably) interesting, then set it to a tune that you have made up yourself.[3] It strikes me that someone, somewhere along the line actually had to write the first traditional songs, even if it was just so that everyone else could copy it.

Well, just in case anyone does doubt it, the majority of the folk tinged epics that are rapidly becoming something of a musical signature of FG are products of my febrile mind, that seething maelstrom of intellect that oscillates between historical romance and willy gags.

But, like our friends Hadaway and S***e, they usually have some sort of foundation in fact.

Google is a wonderful tool, as is Wikipedia, and the delightful thing is that if I’m searching for the name of a ship for a song, or a piratical event, or even the names of the men of Wiltshire

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moonrakers

are completely wrong – it doesn’t matter.

I’m writing a song, a diversion, an aural pastry the ears to delight – and a little sugar makes it even tastier. If I wanted to write a history book, I’d do that instead.

And that would be boring.

So this week, what has FG done?

Monday we set out for The Bridge where we haven’t been for a while. As usual, Mein Host was Dave Minikin, who always runs a good night, and we had a good time in the upstairs room of The Bridge we even hope to be back again for the chance to play before Landermason take to the stage. We haven’t seen them for a while so that’ll be very intrestin’.

http://www.landermason.com/

http://www.bridgefolkclub.co.uk/

Wednesday is of course our big day – or should that be evening- as we attempt a night with itsAcoustica at The Millstone in South Gosforth (what – oh, it’s NE3 1QL, thanks for asking). Admission will be £4 on the door, and it’s in the upstairs room. I could see any number of our Acoustic Chums having a good gig there if we can get it established as a venue that folks are prepared to come to. Hopefully, we’ll see a few of you there. It is three quid in advance and I imagine our bloggy-bretheren would fall into that category – just say you’re an Acoustic Chum!

In other news this week, we have been busy recording in the new studio. The track on Soundcloud from last week has done nicely enough – thanks for all of you who listened. It seems Soundcloud only counts full plays, but it would appear that enough people dropped by for a sample. I think I’ll post the intro to Sam Coles this week, only a minute of the instrumental intro, but it’s an indication of where we are going with it.

As the mist draws in over Stanley, and the birds of night flock towards the roost, and the Christmas Folkie of hope shops in vain for the miseltoe-d capo of fate and the fake bearded Santa of The Mall grabs a quick restorative of rum, I notice it’s the end of this blog.

Until next time Acoustic Chums

Keep Strummin’

 


[1] I certainly would not wish to be that. From what I hear, to be of interest to Judges is beyond my body’s coefficient of elasticity.

[2] Yes, me

[3] Gasps, are at this point, recommended but not actually required.

 

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