Yours is HOW big?

This week I bring you a collection of ramblings, loosely connected to the Folk and Acoustic world. The stories contained herein have limited connection or basis to the real world, some are mildly amusing, one or two are simply unlikely and at least one is a total fabrication of falsehoods, supported by only the truth to sustain it.

So, an average issue then.

Or is it..?

Be Welcome Gentle Reader, and read on.

Another daft week to report, loyal cohorts.

A few days spent at the helm of the day job (well, two day job) has consumed much more time than it should, but still plenty of musical frolics to report.

Bank Holiday Monday was spent at Cherryburn, a lovely NT property near Prudhoe. The weather was not kind and we played indoors. Very poor visitor numbers to report, but more bookings for next year, so jolly good. We should be playing in the Farmhouse next year with one of the big shows, probably Waters of Tyme, that’s if it all comes together.

Then we played in Birtley Library for the local Heritage Group. The room was tiny, and a fair few turned up, so we all packed in and had a grand time – again generating a number of bookings for next year – if it all comes together.

Next, a Care Home we play at regularly, with a new Activities person – we needed to impress all over again, we tried and got a number of bookings – if it all comes together.

Finally on Saturday afternoon a great show at Sunderland Museum, playing for the Friends meeting. A decent crowd, and some lovely comments. CD’s sold and a great time. They’ve asked us back again for next year.

Let’s hope it all comes together.

I will get next years list up on the website soon, honest…

The next largish show is at The Fuse Media Centre in Prudhoe. Not sure how this one will pan out, if anyone will turn up at all – we discovered that very few people in Prudhoe actually know where it is. If you call it the Community Cinema, behind the High School, then the penny drops. 3.00pm kick off.

We shall see and report back, while you wait agog (if not Magog) next week.

wot fuse

Some chaps have little sports cars

Some chaps drive their little sports cars very quickly down the street.

You can see them, often in the rear view mirror, clutching the steering wheel, teeth set in grim determination – they will be past.

And past they go, in a flurry of vroom, the maniacal glint to the eye is a dead giveaway that here we have the lesser testicaled boy racer.

And off he goes, in search of the lamppost of ultimate destiny. The souped-up exhaust of the pimped up F reg Corsa 1.0 roars like a demon who has just spotted the approaching poker.

The one with the red hot tip.

And to what end?[1]

He’s sat there, 2 metres ahead at the lights.

There is a school of thought that the boy racer uses a car as a substitute for a certain deficiency in the manhood department. To put it another way, he’s got a tiny tinky-winky. We call such chaps ‘Teenipini’, after the famous Italian car stylist Teenipini.

Is it possible, Acoustic Chums, that the folk world might also have their very own Teenipini?

It’s those players who seek to make up for what they lack in musicality with hardware bling. Top of the range, more switches and sliders than Apollo 13, more Abalone than The Lone Ranger on a drag night, more exotic wood than in the legs of the average Shanty Crew. Yes we have them, and does it work?

I have no idea, but I’m off to polish up my Ovation CSE225-RRB 6/12 Twin Neck, with the custom Celebrity flame cherryburst lacquer finish and check that the balanced Elixir set for twin necks hasn’t budged with my custom tuning app running on an iPad purchased for the purpose.

I’ll let you know.

Hands up anyone who experiences a .wav of nostalgia for names such as Braddock VC, The Wolf of Kabul, Alf Tupper, the tough of the track; or even Skid Solo[2].

Yes, these names are from the far distant past when The Victor was a boys comic (it was never PC in any shape or form) designed to make the young readers’ pulses quicken with excitement and tales of derring do.

And never a derring don’t.

Foreigners were simply not tolerated, unless they could prove allegiance to the colours by dying for them or making a suitably futile gesture causing actual self harm. Women were, notably, absent. Presumably Braddock did sire little pilots at some point, but if he did, it went unrecorded by The Victor.

The cause of this return to childhood is simply that we’re looking at a whole raft of new material for next year. At this stage, we have the luxury of time, and can therefore explore lots of blind alleys, up which our fearless steps ultimately may lead nowhere. But at some point, either in the comics of my youth, or the Usborne book of English Folk Tales, or simply down the pub with The Wrinklies, inspiration, in the form of a story will ignite the creative fuse, and spluttering down it’s stringy path, there will be a big bang at the end and a supernova of acoustic goodness will illuminate the setlist[3].

I doubt if The Victor, with its outdated jingoism and views from yesteryear will provide the creative impulse.

It might be The Beano though.

‘The Ballad of Lord Snooty’[4] anyone?

The pics this week are not by The Wrinkly Wroadies, as it’s Paulines’s week down the drying out clinic and she’s not allowed out. Some of the pics are from Stanley Blues Festival so you can see what it was like. The rest are not. But I did ask the nice people in Sunderland Museum to give you a wave – you can wave back if you like.

And so while the comic strip of fate writes the FG saga in three frames of drama, and in the last frame there seems to be a small heap of tired but happy little acousticians.

That would be us then.

Until next time Acoustic Chums,

Keep Strummin’

[1] No; not the Demon’s End – we know how that one ends up – and so does he.

[2] Fair enough; as a racing driver he must have had several hair raising moments resulting in collateral underpants damage

[3] I’m proud of that sentence. It makes very little sense, but I’m proud of it.

[4] Actually, it was ‘Lord Snooty and his pals’. Snivelling social sycophants the lot of them, if you ask me.

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