Episode Three
Five Go (almost)* Down To The Sea
*Bristol and Exeter, although posessed of docks, quays, jetties and other marine paraphernalia are not actually seaside towns.
Friday 22nd dawned in Harrogate a lot sooner than it did in Birmingham, but eventually we defied logistical nightmares in the traditional fashion and all met up chez Jessi, for the usual 'get-into-the-smelly-hire-van' scenario. Everytime we feel moved to bemoan the fact that we no longer ride around in something the size of the Albert Hall we simply think of all the money we save when we give back the Transit after flogging it for the weekend and a warm glow steals over us. Besides, there's a quaint nostalgia to it all.....
And so we rolled down the M40 and the A-thingy to Winchester, where we played at The Railway - our usual hang-out. Cheers to all those who turned up and helped make a night of it. All was well, the PA has improved and is set to get better, and the firm shifted lots of CDs. Hurrah! Sadly Snaffler had been unavailable to support, so there was a short Eastfield set, although as the rest of the band were doing their hair this weekend, Jessie was accompanied by Bambi and TDL on bass and drums.
We repaired after the show to TDL's family seat, which is no longer in Castle Cary, but has moved to Wiltshire. TDL's barmy sister has been adding new wings left right and centre, and a whole host of parents-in-law have taken up residence. We were all duly billetted down, and slept blissfully until a shining noon found us rising to face the most important part of the weekend's work:
The visit to Westbury....
Now that 75% of the band are trainspotters, and the other 25% sympathetic, we get to have some smashing times in and around the fabulous railway system. 'What Ho!' we cried lustily as we piled into the smelly van. 'Hurrah for trains!' And so we drove unto Westbury, where in one's youth one could have marvelled at WR diesel Hydraulics working the Mendip stone trains. 'Bugger me!' we cried as one when we pulled into Westbury station car park - for there, in the through road on the up side of the station sat a bona-fide Deltic, engine switched off and a rake of silly-coloured coaches in tow.
Still, just because it's an archaic museum piece, and we'd really rather be coming to grips with dirty working freight engines doesn't mean to say it wasn't worth having. We duly photographed the brute, although owing to the rather wonky light that day, the best shot of the session for my money was of 08664. The 60 and the 66s in the yard were OK, but the shots were spoiled by the sun being too strong on the cab ends. Should've turned up earlier. That'll teach us to idle away mornings in bed.
Anyhow, the Bristol date was a blinder, so three cheers for the Folkhouse, and we look forward to a return match. The pseudo-Eastfield played again, as the band were still off riding to hounds or whatever other weekend activities had prevented them from turning up. Most spectacular was the turn up of old chum Pauls Choirs (one of the guilty crooners at the beginning of Guns of Castle Cary), who hopped aboard and came along for the ride.
The ride that night found us turning up at Yvette's farmhouse in the wee hours, wherein hospitality awaited, and an opportunity to tell outrageous lies to her daughters the following morning. As things worked out, they bested us utterly, and we slunk off - via the WSR of course - to Exeter for a WILD SUNDAY NIGHT OF ROCK....
You had to be there.
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Episode Four
The weekend that almost was
Once upon a time there was a weekend stretching from Wednesday through 'til Sunday, in which the firm were going to ply their trade and make enough money to pay the Chairman's next vet's bill. Tragically, we washed our clothes in new 'FLAKE-O-PROMOTER', the powder that washes your date list whiter than white, and it all went to pot.
Here's what came to pass:
Wednesday 27th of September was initially going to see the band playing in Stockton High Street for a fat wad of sponsor's cash. It was to be part of a 'cavalcade of steam' festival. Now, we would normally have no truck with cavalcades of anything that wasn't diesel-fueled and rumbling in the appropriate fashion, but there are few things a fat wad won't induce needy musicians to do. Tragically the local council objected to the organisers accepting money from Nestlé, so we were stitched up. Bastards....
The same promotor who entirely failed to keep us advised of Wednesday's mess was also responsible for fouling up Thursday 28th. Mad Dogs and Englishmen were due to play The Arc in Stockton. It turns out that the complete arse who had booked the gig never followed it through, and the venue called up claiming they knew nothing, that the promoter had fled the scene and that the gig hadn't been promoted. They begged us to postpone it, and promised to do better next time. We reluctantly agreed, only to find out later that on the night they were telling people that WE had cancelled. Rest assured we did no such thing. It was entirely their responsibility, and we expect redress.
Yeah, right....
Friday 29th actually happened, as Vince in Lincoln is a good egg. Blyth and Eastfield - the whole band this time - played, although we were horribly late. A shaky version of Carlisle found its way into the set, which was fun(ish). But transport arrangements had been hastily renegotiated at the 11th hour thanks to ....
Newcastle on Saturday 30th being cancelled for entirely spurious reasons. Again, it wasn't our fault, and we hope no one travelled too far for it. And then there were two.
The second of which was at the Old Railway in Birmingham. The night was wet and dark. The monitors packed up. The band were absolutely storming. I've had enough of this weekend. That's all for now.
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