If Fool’s Gold were a job it would be a very good one. Not in monetary terms obviously, although that’s looking up; but in terms of enjoying how you spend your life, it seems a good choice. Despite various conflicting rumours to the contrary, I think one life is probably all you’re likely to get, so it’s probably a good idea to enjoy it while it’s there.
Even the blog is fun.
Which is a good job, as you are here and you are Welcome, Gentle Reader, now read on…
Unless you want to sound as though you own your very own echo chamber in your mouth, it’s a good idea to keep those cavities at bay. We have, however a chequered history when it comes to brushes with the dental profession.
Carol went to one who had coloured in his certificate all by his big self, and our next one was probably a very good welder, but not much good as a Gob Quack. So we needed a new one, which we duly found, in a village not far away.
A very nice, smart practice too; it even comes with the obligatory dragon on the reception desk, whose job it is, to prevent anyone, anyone at all, from actually seeing a dentist.
Anyway, exploratory searches were performed, hygenists encountered and then, of course, it was time for fillings.
The Noble Fang Farrier is undoubtedly a nice man, probably a devoted family chap who is nice to his pets and rarely drinks. In the surgery, he is very, very professional. Quiet, sober, reflective and gentle.
Reserved, somber even.
None of my carefully rehearsed ad-libs met with any response, so, on the grounds that I had someones arm in me gob, I shut up.
No jokes during treatment.
At length, all was done, and very well done too.
A professional handshake at parting, and off to meet the dragon to deal with the bill.
Looking down at the bill, I discovered that he does after all, have a very good sense of humour.
Fairly mad madness this week in spite of reduced giggage. We’ve discovered that on the Care Home circuit, the letters D & V are not popular and close everything down until everyone has stopped dripping. So, a couple of cancellations. We’ve been busy building up bookings and things for next year, networking, calling on people and places and generally putting ourselves about the place. Some very encouraging noises from places, but I think I’ll keep my powder dry on the announcements front until things are confirmed. More recording on the Harland project, with one song thrown out and completely redone in a different key (F if you must know). It features a cast of unusual stringed things, 8 string ukes, ukes, uke bass and er.. a lead uke.
I am NOT going to do any uke based puns as they would be too painful.
Oh, go on then.
Bet Yuke can’t wait.
Our great thanks this week to a few people who have thrown our name around with the type of abandon one used to be able to call gay.
The phone has rung a couple of times and some emails too that start with “So and So said …” which is really nice, and a big noisy thanks to Nicol for plugging us north of where the border would have been if the result had gone the other way.
If you see what I mean.
Which brings me to today; Sunday (if this thing is ever broadcast on Dave, that sentence will pose them a problem). Today is Sunday (actually it’s really Friday, but for dramatic purpose, let’s pretend…) and we are in Ayr. Last night (Tomorrow) was (will be) our appearance at Windy Ha in Saltcoats. Wake up The Sun is a musical showcase based on the west coast and somehow we were (will be) on the bill. I’d tell you how it went, but to be honest, I’m a part time musician, songwriter or ICT Consultant, not a blinkin’ Soothsayer, so you’ll just have to wait…
Thursday and we for Durham City Folk Club; it’s always a nice evening down there usually not too busy, but a very pleasant evening of music in good company. There are a few pics from our Wrecked Wretainers, the Wrinkly Wroadies; only a few as there were not that many players!
The King’s Head and Washerwoman’s Legs Folk Club continues to flourish under the benevolent gaze of Chairman Dave. The new season has long been prepared as it is the same as the last one and the one before that. The last nudist has been peeled from the leatherette and jettisoned onto the street (you didn’t read that episode? Really?) and the ashtrays filled ready for a new season. Chairman Dave and the committee, have begun to develop a code of practice that they will ask all performers to sign. Sorry, I mean tell all performers to sign.
The code will not be anything unusual, apart from the bit about the ferrets, some of the better rules will include:
- All performers must respect all other performers, even the ones who are rubbish.
- All performers must remain silent during other performers spots. Especially during the ones that are rubbish.
- Performers will know which ones are rubbish as The Chairman will inform the room, during the performance by shouting “Quiet – this one’s Rubbish”, or to announce it at the start if it’s obvious.
- If performers are still not sure which ones are rubbish; it’s probably you.
- You’re Rubbish
- Be Quiet
As the word count once again assumes Biblical proportions and the Deceased Folky of Fate querulously approaches the Pearly Folk Club of Forever and reads the welcoming words on the doormat: “QUIET – THIS ONE’S RUBBISH” I notice, it is the end of this blog,
Until next time, Acoustic Chums,
 See what I did there? I know.
 The Tap and Spile. On a Thursday in the back room. And no… it isn’t the inspiration for certain other Folk Clubs.