Episode Twenty Eight

The time it takes to wink an eye
Sees one whole year go sailing by

If it seems like an age since last we drew aside the veils of time that shroud our glorious past, then that is because it actually is so. So many extra-curricular activities have occupied us of late that we haven’t been keeping the journal up to date. Add to this the ravages of old age that have robbed our glorious leader of many of his retentive faculties and you will appreciate the difficulties that we scribes are under here, when we try to get him off his arse and into the office to give us some dictation.
Be that as it may, our heroes have been wandering a little this year, and if it does seem to have been quieter of late than usual, then it is probably for one of the following reasons:

1. Someone has been serving a prison sentence
2. Someone has been laid up with a ferocious lurgey
3. Someone has from somewhere acquired an offspring
4. Someone has been too preoccupied with model aeroplanes to get their finger out and get their job done.

Thus it was the end of April before Blyth power first played in 2004. April 30th, in fact, and the venue was the Wheatsheaf in Leighton Buzzard. This is a traditional port of call for the band and is always a friendly and hospitable place to be. On this occasion we had a fine busy night, and even Emma, the office junior was present – for the soundcheck at least. Thus it was that by the end of the night everyone was happy – despite the impending visit to Rochester on the frozen morrow. I can report that Dirk Von Squarehead was accompanying the band on this weekend, and the sight of him propelling a pile of amps and bits almost ceiling high through the bar of the Wheatsheaf on the way out was a joy to behold to those band members more accustomed to the casual approach to loading out adopted by some former roadcrew we could mention. The bass cab’s squeaky wheels groaned in protest, but to no avail.
Ahhh! Roadcrew we have known! Where in all that untidy regiment of liggers and bums we have known and loved down the years has there ever been any who knew how to either change a plug or a guitar string, or who was ever to be fond when there was gear to lug?
It was all hands to the van and a speedy trek to hospitable quarters in Sydenham after the show, as an unfeasibly early start awaited us the following morning. May 1st is, of course, the date on which since time immemorial Blyth Power have played the Rochester Sweeps Festival. Hardened Blyth watchers will recall that this involves four sets in two different venues in a town so clogged and choked with morris dancers that one is hard put to know where to look. Worse still, the first set kicks off at 12.30 in The Crown so it was necessary to rise with the dawn in order to be there and set up on time. Oh bugger! Bugger! Bugger ! Unloading was no fun, but parking the van in Rochester during the festival is impossible. You would have hoped that a weekend given over to traditional song and dance might have found a bit more traditional means of transport employed – i.e. walkng – but you would be wrong, and it proved necessary to park the van almost a mile away on the road out of town. Still the lunchtime sets proved splendid fun, with a good and enthusiastic turnout. If only we could have gone home then.
But it was not to be. Despite a pleasant afternoon in Maidstone, it was with heavy hearts that we parked outside the Eagle on Rochester High Street. No one really wanted us there. The punters just wanted to get drunk and have a disco, the staff really didn’t mind what we did, and the handful of Blyth supporters who braved the evening shift deserve full marks for their support and assistance. The place was so crammed with regulars that we hardly fit into the little corner next to the fire exit, and as the festival literature had advertised us as having been there at 4pm, it was only the people we had met and told personally at the earlier shows who even expected us to be there. We played. Twice. The guitar amp blew up. It was a very long way back to Yorkshire.
It was a different story entirely on June 18th when the band next convened, for this was at the Boardwalk in Sheffield, wherein Blyth were to play at the wedding reception of Mr Neil and Michelle Dodds, along with the very lovely Fish Brothers, the small but perfectly formed Wob, and the hairy ugly Eastfield. It was a lovely do, but TDL somehow managed to miss most of the buffet. Tough. The next day was another wedding party, this time for Heike and Chris(oops!), at Nottingham University, and you may be assured that the old tyrant guzzled more than his fair share of the banoffi pie at this one. We would like to thank both parties for having us play at their receptions. It is a great honour, and the food was splendid.
So on the Sunday we went to the seaside, to see if The Loop in Bridlington is any more of a happening place for music fans in the summer months.
It proved not to be so.
What were you doing on the eve of the D-day 60th celebrations? Getting drunk with a tall shifty looking German postman? Some of us were./ Lo! It came to pass that Blyth were invited to play at the festivities celebrating the wedding anniversary of Cliff and Margaret - part of the sprawling conurbation of tents that trek from Norfolk to Tallington each year and vie with each other to see whocan pitch the most canvas. As usual, it was a jolly good do, and the Cooper family seat was set ablaze with our collective revelry. As is traditional on these occasions we had 'Uncle Cameron' up to do a spot, while the Old Man shuffled off into a dark corner to dream of his next trip to Hannants of Lowestoft...

It was at this point that Mr Bambi had handed in his cards and was working out his notice, thus the next two dates were bizarre one-offs. The first was in Lewes at the Snowdrop, and took place on July 3rd. Nice place. Nice people. Small and intimate. Special thanks at this do to Simon who assisted us in the maintenance of a very special piece of equipment.
Bambi’s last do was at The Musician in Leicester, at which the support band failed to turn up, which was probably a blessing. There were speeches, there were tears, and there was an ornate gold clock, but it was in the window of a shop in the High Street and bore no relation to the proceedings whatsoever. In the words of the Bay City Rollers (almost) Bye bye Bambi Bambi bye bye Bambi Bambi bye bye…

The next time the public beheld Blyth onstage was at the Victoria in Derby a week after Tallington, when the usual suspects gathered to do there thing. Mr Chris Butler and Eastfield supported, and Mr Spud played bass. Great Scott! That was it for the Summer, apart from Tallington, which you can read about in glorious detail elsewhere. What a ripping good year it had been so far for our heroes.
In fact, that was pretty much it for the year. Blyth reconveved briefly before Christmas to allow new bassist Jerry to have a bash. First up was a surprise party in Horncastle for veteran punk rocker Nigel, who had no idea what lay in store for him. To Mr Porter's immense delight it turned out that Nigel and he had shared a kicking way back in 1980, when Zounds played the Bentley Pavillion in Doncaster, and everyone got beaten up. It was Nigel's 40th in Horncastle. "Hang on," pointed out our aged hero, proving that he can just about count, although not in time. "If you are 40 today, then you would have been underage at that gig."
"There was no bar," our host replied virtuously. I am sure the kicking was richly deserved by all parties involved.
Except Nigel, whose skills in the field of Indian cuisine left us with bulging doggy bags for the van on the way home. The sound at the gig was horrid, as the hall was huge and cavernous, but overall the evening passed pleasantly.
More than can be said for the next night, in Lincoln, which was horrid. The sound sucked, the venue sucked, the bass amp wasn't loud enough, and all things considered, we'd like to pretend it didn't happen. Except for the Scumhaters, who played, and who rocked as always. Thanks by the way to Comrade Aston for the disco ball, which proved immensely helpful when it turned out that we couldn't use the huge and impressive stage lights.

Thus it was that on the Sunday we rehearsed! As a result of which, we were able to trot out Pastor Skull, Cynthia's Revels and To Whose Gods when we reconvened for a Monday night at the New Roscoe in Leeds. Monday night? You have to be joking! Oh no. For are we not Blyth? It was a really good night, and everyone was on form. The sound was great and the delivery service from the kebab shop first rate. Well done to all the band and thanks as usual to Mr John Keenan for another splendid night of rock mayhem in the capital of the North. (What do you mean it isn't?)
Thus we retired to bed, with muffins and crumpets and slept soundly through the winter, until the snow thawed, and we were ready once more to go out into the world.
"Oh bugger! Not another bloody gig..."

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