Anyone for Tennis?

It is one of my earnest ambitions to turn up at Wimbledon one year, just to shout “C’mon Tim”, loudly at an inappropriate point. This is not to attempt humour, but simply to indicate to the masses that I have a huge fund of personal indifference whether or not the chap on the right can poing the ball over the net in a manner calculated to cause disappointment on the part of the chap on the left.

Tennis?

Tennis Bats?
No connection with folk, roots and acoustic music is there?
Be Welcome Gentle Reader, and read on…

Funny old week this one. Busy as heck with all sorts of life; the sort that fills a day without you really noticing, except one is unaccountably tired. (late edit, on which note: pics and words about Ingleton Funraiser will be in the hallowed tome next week)

Some good FG stuff though, as the email equivalent of the phone ringing has been, if not clamorous, at least more intrusive than usual. We hope to be able to confirm a few more FG headline shows before too much longer, and some may be a bit more theatrery and a bit less clubby. Even a bit ‘not music venuey’. But, let’s see what happens.

The new website is doing wll for us, or so it would seem anyway, nice and easy for us to use too, always a bonus. What’s that? You’ve not seen it yet? Oh well in that case… here it is.

Not so very long ago we went to The North Britton, home of Aycliffe Village Folk Club, and this week, unusually, we decided to inflict ourselves upon them again. Inflict it probably was as neither of us were firing on all nine cylinders, but we enjoyed it nonetheless. In the absence of the holidaying Mr Snowball, the evening was MC’d by Mr Bert Draycott (wcsp[1]) in a style that cannot be copied or even accurately described, other than perhaps to point the imagination of the Gentle Reader in the right direction by inviting anyone who has not seen Bert, to simply fill a mental tin bath with a miner, some pit boots, a set of spoons, a bunch of stories which are incredibly unlikely but probably true, charm, wit and a dance routine that doesn’t but should, involve the aforementioned pit boots.

That should do it.

We had a lovely evening again, and had the signal honour of finishing the night. Rake Down The Moon was our final, subtle, sign out.

The only other outing this week was to Gibside, near Rowlands Gill in the lovely pastoral idyll that is Gateshead. Gibside is a large National Trust property consisting of a house that is not there and a big estate that is. They have a music evening o’ a Friday called Sundown (how apt) and we were invited to do a few half hour sets, which as you can imagine, we did. The weather was, to put it mildly, bloody awful. As this is usually an outdoor event, I invite Gentle Readers to imagine what that did to visitor numbers. That’s right; they don’t like it up ‘em, and they don’t like it when it’s *&^%$£ down on ‘em either. So it was that we played our sets in the café, to a few hardy souls who were most appreciative. Plus we got asked back, and got asked to do a few more events, including some at other NT properties, so: washout? Nope. Far from it.

The images again courtesy of The Wrinkly Wroadies who are turning into expert snapspersons of the Folk ouvre. Our thanks again to them.

As I tap on Friday evening, we are girding our musical loins for the Ingleton Folk Festival Fundraiser tomorrow night. Again the forecast is poor, but we will be there and a full report will probably see the light of darkness next week.

The Sandman exists. So does Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Yeti, Sasquatch and of course, the Great Sock Spirit. In a similar vein, Dave the Chairman of The King’s Head and Washerwoman’s Arms Folk Club has unveiled his latest plans to rejuvenate the club, from the morass into which it has descended. The club currently caters for a very few real ale stained leatherclad gentlemen[2], who regard unaccompanied songs about fish as the only true music. As we know a few of those, we’d fit right in, but Dave wants to encourage the younger generation, say persons just below pensionable age and preferably still in possession of their own, or someone else’s, teeth, to come along and perform. To this end he has announced a fish themed folk talent show tentatively entitled “Britain’s got Pollock”. Participants can apply for a 20 minute spot to show what they are capable of, or sing, whichever takes the fancy, as long as the songs are about fish, have a fish theme, or in which a fish takes the lead role[3].

And so as the peripatetic Tennis Team of fate inadvertently calls in at the Folk Club of Destiny, and get booked to do a night of Banjolele music by the short sighted Chairman of Chance, I realise that the end of this blog, is but a few words away,

Until next time Acoustic Chums,

Keep Strummin’


[1] World Champion Spoon Player. It’s in his contract that is mentioned.

[2] And one woman. At least medically.

[3] At this point puns involving words such as Plaice, Net, Catch etc are invited from the whole shoal.

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