This is Where the Party Ends
Mailout time is here again, and first of all it is our custom, and
our pleasure, to congratulate all those old punk rockers out there that
responded to the caption competition within seconds of the digital version
of the mailout leaving the office. Well done in particular to Mr Swag
of A Cock's Green for winning ever so many credibility points, and proving
to the world that he has a Spandau Ballet factor of nil. As for the six
songs that were also released on vinyl, these were: Me and My Desire,
Crazy, I'm Alive, Titanic Reaction, Emergency and No Pity. Of course you
knew that didn't you!
So here's another fabulous competition. Who will be this edition's Thane
of Rock Trivia? Will it be Mr Hilditch again, or will he plead indisposition
as excuse for not entering? We've gone for something a little less generic
this time. Good luck, and remember - it's barely worth the effort as there
is no prize for a correct entry.
Killing Jason Off and Countless Screaming Argonauts
Glastonbury? Where's that then? Oh - you mean the Pilton Pop Festival.
Wouldn't touch it with a bargepole. We're having our own as you jolly
well know. It's the event we've been forecasting for months now, known
as The Tallington Ashes, and it's all set to take place on July 13th this
year. If you haven't already heard about it, and didn't attend last year's
event, then read on…
Tallington, as any fule kno, is a tiny settlement in south Lincolnshire
entirely dwarfed by the Dowmac concrete railway sleeper factory, wherein
an ex-BR 03 shunter used to toil. Don't let this alarm you though, as
the cement works fails to impose itself upon the rural idyll, and overall
impression gained from a night spent on the campsite behind the venue
is one of having been 'flower-lulled in sleepy grass watching the cool
lapse of hours pass until the centuries have blended and blurred…'
Well, apart from the trains that is. Page 44 of your OPC rail atlas will
reveal its location, although as there is no station, that won't really
help you get there. You'll have to get a bus from Stamford or drive, in
which case you want the A16 towards Market Deeping. Tallington is smack
on the East Coast Main Line, and the venue is next to the level crossing.
The four- track main line runs alongside the campsite, and the traction
action is constant. There are even little yellow Plassers in the sidings
across the road.
The venue is a public house called The Whistle Stop, and the bands play
on a stage out the back by a beer garden. There's a campsite, toilets
and showers, a garage across the road with a nice olde shoppe - without
Glastonbury's special festival prices - and a jolly fine plate of egg
and chips is available from the bar until late in the evening. Tough if
you're a vegan, but then you're probably used to it.
So, what's going to happen? Blyth Power are going to roll up on the Friday
evening to start fiddling with gear, with the gentle assistance of Mr
John Taylor, who is kindly providing a PA. They will wake early on the
campsite on Saturday morning and have a bracing eight-mile run before
breakfasting heartily on baked beans. By the time Mr Porter has finished
his rigorous regime of personal hygiene, it will be time to kick off the
music with a lunchtime set from Blyth, by way of checking everything is
in order. We recommend, therefore, that anyone wishing to join in the
early morning callisthenics comes down on the Friday evening and secures
a good pitch for their tent. We promise not to sing round a campfire.
So, carrying on to the Saturday, after Blyth have bashed through a few
golden oldies, the cricket will commence around 1.00. Old Uffordonions
will recall the regular drubbing we used to give to Chris from Bishop's
Stortford and his team. OK, so we haven't won for years, but that was
only because Jessi Adams cheated last year. Cricket is played on a kind
of free-for-all basis, whereby everyone gets a go, and we use a tennis
ball, as a) Joseph is a weedy wet b) A lot of the players are very young,
and c) We play on the campsite where some of you will be parking extremely
valuable automobiles.
Basically the cricket match goes on until we've pasted the foe. Then the
music will start up again around teatime and will include, although not
necessarily in this order, Poke, Rome Burns, Mr John Forrester, General
Winter, Daddy Those Men Scare Me, Mr Chris Butler, Eastfield, Miss Rachel
Pantechnicon and Blyth Power (again). I know it is customary in festivals
these days to have some old buffer that your mum liked dusted off and
patronised by the youth of the day. I'm afraid you'll have to make do
with Joseph. He is, after all, over 40 now.
Music will end around 11.00ish, thereafter we will all retire to the campsite
and sleep secure in the knowledge that nimble fingered youths from nasty
housing estates will not be slicing open our tents with Stanley knives
and stealing our walkmans, and that John Peel will not be reporting on
us from a gilded pavilion, entirely free of mud, cess, offal and the flotsam
of several days of pointless drunken rampage. See you there.
The Truth is Where the Sculptor's Chisel Chipped Away the Lie
Well, haven't we been having fun of late? Usually yes, but there have
been one or two instances when circumstances beyond our control have contrived
to smear egg all over our faces, and we'd like to take this opportunity
to make the usual apologies for inconvenience caused.
Firstly at The Hibernian in Birmingham, where the promoter had gone on
holiday leaving the event in the hands of a stooge. Said stooge proved
worse than useless, the bar wasn't opened in the room in which the band's
played, and the stooge made only the most rudimentary attempt to collect
money. Thanks to those who tried to make him accept payment, only to be
told that he was going home soon anyway, and not to bother. Thanks also
to General Winter, who it's always nice to have around, especially when
you're having a rubbish night. In spite of the stooge, the PA man was
excellent, and we hope people didn't have too bad a night trying to squeeze
into the crowded football-sodden bar next door to queue up 20 minutes
for a drink. We have voiced our objections to the party responsible, as
we feel it's a bit churlish to mess folks about when they've all made
the effort to come out on a Thursday night, and have a right to expect
a reasonable standard of treatment from the promoters involved, not a
closed bar and a sullen stooge with a fag hanging out of his head reading
the Daily Mirror when they enter the establishment.
Oh well, at least the gig actually happened, which is more than we can
say for the last Birmingham venue that booked us….
Rochester Sweeps festival was even more preposterous. You would have thought
that a council-sponsored event of many years standing would be safe from
the wiles of avaricious landlords. Not so in this case. Our arrival at
the venue was greeted with a barrage of different excuses: we haven't
got a music licence; we've booked a disco instead; we'll tell the council
you played anyway and you'll still get paid. In the end we went home,
leaving an explanatory note on the door, which they took down, presumably
thinking that people wouldn't notice the difference. Apparently everybody
did. The council rep was most apologetic, and said he'd have us back next
year in a real venue. In the meantime we hope they close the bastards
down on some dubious trumped up charge. At least they paid us in full…
As Dirt Rained Down She Played a Xylophone
But fear not, for there is more and better to come. Life is not all a
bed of stooges and cancellations. There will be light and laughter, and
the halls will ring with the eager chatter of children's voices etc etc.
As you will see from the accompanying list, the band are all set to gallivant
through the summer, and we hope to see you not only at Tallington, but
at some of the splendid establishments we are patronising as well. This,
of course, is the CD launch tour for On the Viking Station. What do you
mean you've had it for months? The sharp-eyed among you will note that
Mr Porter, following the end of the Mad Dogs experiment, has been taking
himself and his guitar out, and will continue to do so. Look out for the
be-chinned one crooning near you in Autumn, which is the period set aside
for the be-suited avaricious ones to book solo dates.
More dates are always in the pipeline. Likewise unscrupulous and unprofessional
tossers are always lurking on the sidelines with the latest last-minute
cancellation. We do our best to avoid such idiots, but with the best will
in the world we can't weed them all out, so do remember to ring the hotline
before you travel. You know it makes sense.
We are sorry to announce the demise of our regular HVC hire van. Some
reckless customer drove it into a skip. They claimed they were only doing
three miles an hour. The skip must have been shifting some, as the poor
contraption is torn asunder. Their other vans just aren't the same. TDL
has been reflecting sorrowfully on the many hours he spent reading model
aircraft journals, perched on Father Jack's old armchair, in the womblike
comfort of it's steely hold. Blyth Power are accustomed to travelling
in comfort.
Accidentally Taken Off the Shelf Before the Expiration Date
So on to the latest news from the Blyth catalogue. Those of you with expensive
computers will be delighted to know that the long-heralded mouse mats
have at last been ordered. Featuring a cracking picture of 56134 in Eggborough
Power Station, drawn by our own Mr Bambi, they are hard top mats and will
be retailing for £6. We look forward to avoiding the usual 'price
of vinyl' complaints from pissed crusties over this one, as presumably
none of them have a computer. Hurrah! Those of you who are reading this
here, do, of course, and can have a look at the design elsewhere on this
website.
On the subject of ancient history, the spoken word CD is still in the
pipeline, but experiencing a production hiccup. By the way, you old retros,
what's with the sudden increase in vinyl sales? The sudden trend for helping
relieve us of these ancient relics has prompted us to start lumping the
stuff along to gigs again, where special offers are available.
Talking of bargains, if anyone can give a home to two five-year-old cats
named Alan and Reggie, we'd like to hear from them. They're house-trained,
charming, come with all accessories and we will deliver free of charge.
This is a serious plea. They're currently banged up in a refuge in Ripon.
We're not trying to sell them, honest!
Everybody Wants Prosthetic Foreheads on Their Real Heads
Which leads us back to the website again. There is now a jumble sale forum
for the sale or exchange of unwanted items. Some old Blyth vinyl is currently
advertised, and there are a couple of requests for things wanted. Other
updates include Blythwatch, and very shortly there will be a new chapter
of Genesis to Revolutions posted. Full details of this year's, and last
year's Tallington extravaganzas are there, and all things considered,
if you have never owned a computer before, then now we have the mouse
mats coming into stock, what more excuse do you have? TDL is allegedly
working the night through to get all these exciting updates ready for
you.
She Set Your Goldfish Free and Now She's Sighing
Which leaves us barely enough time to introduce you to Madame Chairman
Meow, who has moved in and taken over. Henceforth all poetry will be rigidly
censored according to new guidelines laid down by the Blyth Cultural Revolutionary
Committee (BCRC). You have been warned.