Really; I don’t…

I don’t get it; no, really – I haven’t got a clue.

This state of cluelessness extends in many directions, as far as the eye can see, the ear can hear or any other bits of you that are routinely used in the act of exploration are prepared to ramble.

The limits of my ignorance are sketched roughly in pencil upon the map of knowledge, on the basis that, if they need to be extended, it’s just a matter of a little bit of rubbing out that’s required.

Having thus established, quite early on, that I am to put it mildly, a bit stupid, the question quivering and yet unspoken on the tremulous lower lip of the reader must surely be; why?

Ah, well for that, there is only one possible retort.

Be Welcome, Gentle Reader, and read on…

The cause of my not-knowingness this week has come from several directions. Only this morning, whilst donning my FG suit, my attention (never at its best at that hour) was hijacked by the sound of a lady (so I assume, always best to give the benefit of the doubt) warbling her way through a classical piece apparently intended to be sung by a wobbly voiced banshee to the lyric of ‘Woobly-Woo”.

I don’t get it.

My ignorance, I know, but the noise was horrendous, although it was good to see that she’s discovered the last surviving C and A in the UK.

I have addressed this stupidly of self by listening to radio 3. Which is very good, although I don’t like the vocal stuff, which all seems to ‘Woobly-Woo’, and the solo piano pieces which seem to a bit too ‘plinkety-plonk’. Other stuff is very prog though, especially the Baroque, which I like a lot.

My ignorance however, shines out like a dull beacon.

Possibly the thing that compounds the feeling most, is the theatre we contacted a while ago. It has a very nice website, with a ‘hire’ section. Ideal for us, sizewise, and location.

Usefully, the website had a contact form, which I filled in, in English[1], and politely[2] too. Hitting <send> I sat back and waited for the promised response.

A week later I sent another form in, and copied to an email address found elsewhere on the site, which was called something like ‘hireenquires@bummail.com’.

This did get a response.

It was more or less along the lines of:

‘We’re very busy, we do hire, but only if and when we feel like it. Anyway, what do you want to do in OUR theatre, you scum?’

Undaunted, I replied, very politely[3], outlining how our shows work, and expected audience and so forth.

That was a few weeks ago, we have heard nothing at all.

I just don’t get it.

Really.

Time for another email, and it will be very polite[4].

This week has been lovely, we have done very little, just one floor spot. The reason is that we have had an FG holiday and have been hiding in a log cabin in the woods. This has meant no internet or phone signal, which was quite nice for a week.

It has been peaceful and very quiet, although we took guitars and have worked on a few songs for shows coming up and for next year.

Talking of which, the show gear for next year is now complete, with the addition of a very small laptop (dead cheap from Curry’s, quite good too) to run the visuals. This will be a bit more stable on the stand and easier to set up. Progress too on the songs, including some more writing, so everything is doing well enough at the moment.

The floor spot entailed a long journey through the night, as we went to Netherton Folk Club. Netherton is a lovely club, and Jack is a great man, so we happily went along. It was another great night in the only concrete, wood lined Village Hall I know. American Tom, Ron Gardiner and a host of local Acoustic Chums were in attendance, and we had a very nice night, making a small FG sized impression on the room.

In a good way.

I hope.

Photos are of course provided via the roving lenses of the Wrinkly Wroadies. There was much wine taken at the club and Mrs. Wroadie again surpassed herself.

Sorry, I mis-typed that, it should be: Mrs. Wroadie again passed out.

This week it’s back to work, with a list of shows and Care Homes racing towards us, and, I hope to get my mitts on some of the toys we have been collecting and get some serious fiddling done.

Which will be great until it all goes wrong.

And so as the hire request for a gig in Heaven is met with disbelief by St Peter, who dashes off a terse ‘Out of Office’ reply, then adds you to the spam filter list, I see it’s the end of this blog.

I don’t understand it.

Really, I don’t.

Until next time, Acoustic Chums,

Keep Strummin’

[1] Mostly

[2] Mostly

[3] Mostly

[4] Hardly at all.

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