Greetings From The Dear Leader
Here at Party Headquarters things have begun to get terribly exciting as the comrades cook up a whole bunch of new schemes to unleash upon the unsuspecting public in the New Year. The Dear Leader has been running around with a looking-glass, preening himself and saying things like 'will you let me finish' and 'we are a grandmother', which is slightly disconcerting for the rest of us. Either, we tell each other, it is a sign of his enormous brain working overtime on the master plan, and will result in some huge scheme that will benefit all of mankind, or it is a final submission to corruption, and like Byzantine Rome he is grown bloated with vice, greed, and opulence, and will shortly implode with his own wickedness. There is only one sure way to find out, and that is to come and see the band, or TDL by himself at one of the venues listed below. Of course, if you can't manage that, then you can always avail yourself of one of our fine recordings. Regular readers will recall that in the last mailout we spoke of huge gluts of ancient vinyl festering away. We are pleased to announce that great inroads have been made into this thanks to the initiative of our sales strategists, and we look forward to having more room under the bed in future for TDL's growing collection of Airfix kits, which are his consuming passion. God help us all. On the new recording front, we are pleased to announce that Westminster and Wandsworth has found its way onto a compilation CD, with a whole host of our glorious peers. Entitled Fear of a Red Planet, the CD is a benefit for Morning Star and is available for a mere £10 from Red Planet Records 3 Ardleigh Road London N1 4HS. Cheques should be made payable to Red Planet, and if you want to find out more about the CD, the cause, and a whole lot of other things then check out the Morning Star website at http://www.poptel.org.uk/morning-star/ I'm sure writing these things used to be easier before they invented the internet.
Cheesy Edams
But since the dratted thing is there, we might as well make the most of it. In collusion with Doctor McBacchus, we are cooking up a new unofficial Blyth soap opera page, wherein regular tour diaries will chronicle the dashing adventures of the band and its sprawling infrastructure. Thrill to the in-house gossip concerning Jessie Adams' football skills; weep as he fails to clinch the golden boot, and sigh with relief as once again he nimbly dodges the defence and puts another one past the keeper. Yes, it's true. We all have deep dark secrets, and although it rues us to admit it, there are now people in the band who like football. This, and other sordid revelations will be posted on the new site as and when it is up and running - all the stuff we don't want to put on the official site, where we're trying to look grown-up and serious. Doctor McBacchus is our resident mad scientist. Every tottering dictatorship should have one, just as it should have toadies and sycophants. There are, however, vacancies in these departments, so interested parties should get in touch at the address above.
The Ufford Appeal
Now that Blyth Power is infested with soccer hooligans we feel it ever more necessary to exercise a balancing influence upon the lads, and with this in mind we are looking for a venue to re-enact the great days of The White Horse in Ufford. For those who never made it, we had our own private mini-festival for several years in succession. The band played in the beer garden and there was a traditional cricket match before hand, during which Chris from Bishops Stortford and his sisters would annually deprive us of a jar of greasy fag ends known as The Ufford Ashes. The confounded chap still has them, and all honour is suspended until we can get them back. What we need is a venue with a field attached - people used to camp on the paddock - somewhere not too inaccessible. Sometime in June or July would be best, and ideally, when The Whisky Priests aren't on tour, as Gary and Glenn know one end of a bat from the other, and with them, Spud, and Ade on our team, we reckon we'd stand a chance against Chris' googlies. TDL says he gets to pick first, as last time Chris poached all the best players, otherwise we'd have hammered him. Anyone knowing of a likely venue get in touch ASAP.
So, What's Been Going On?
Business as usual (groans). The band has been toiling as ever, and the lads are going from strength to strength. Notable amongst recent gigs were Harlow and Southwick. Harlow was, as ever, a pleasure to play, and we are sorry to hear that the venue may be closing due to council skulduggery. If this is the case, we are informed that all the people involved there who have, over the years, made it one of the best venues in the country for poor suffering musicians to wind up in, intend upping sticks and carrying on elsewhere. Maybe they won't have to. We hope not, but whatever happens, good luck and thanks for having us over the years. Southwick Barn saw the reappearance of Alnwick & Tyne, and had it not been for problems with the monitors Better to Bat would have ventured out too. As for the guitar solo in Ixion - ewes miscarried in nearby fields that were not even pregnant! Solo gigs have been a lot of fun - even Belper, which accidentally forgot to be advertised. Thanks to the gallant band who made it there. TDL has, since getting the book out of his system, been writing songs at a furious rate, and these are creeping into the acoustic set. Likewise his long overdue revenge poem about Attila's masculine organ. This latter will not feature in the band's gigs, as it is a piece of serious performance poetry, and requires attentive listening and respect. It celebrates the occasion of the Stockbroker's staying at Party HQ, and his being surprised upon the stairs without apparel. Those of you unfamiliar with Attila's evil verses on 'Joseph Porter's Sleeping Bag' may rest assured that this poem is a necessary evil. I thought at first it was a slug… Thanks at this point to Womble, for the epic jaunt up the broads from Lowestoft. The day was long and filled with episode, but the acoustic session into the small hours remains with us as one of the high spots of the year. TDL was actually last to bed that night, which is unprecedented, but as he hadn't been drinking since noon, he failed to qualify for the Shane McGowan award, which is customarily awarded to the staunchest partygoer at Womble Towers. Those who failed to locate The Bell - it was actually eight miles outside Banbury, in a mobile phone blind spot - missed the delightful spectacle of the po-faced folk-singing dear leader attending his first ever stag party. Ten minutes before his first set a coach pulled up outside and disgorged its pub-crawling contents. They were mortally drunk. The groom was dressed as a rabbit. They cheered the spectacle of TDL and his axe. 'Do you know any dirty songs?' they bawled. 'Let's see your list - do you know Flashdance?' Thanks to The Whisky Priests, who took TDL along for four days. It's always a pleasure and a privilege. The band is better than ever and we look forward to seeing them again one day, if they ever return from the biggest European tour ever….
Red Herrings
Apologies to all our German geschwestern for the non-appearance of the rumoured November tour. There was confusion with dates, but we hope to be over in March. Apologies also to those who made it to The Portland Arms in Cambridge - a similar thing happened. It wasn't our fault - honest. The date has been rescheduled to November 14th. The Otley Folk Club date is now happening in February, and we are tentatively pleased to announce the projected free New Year's Eve bash in a heated Marquee on Southwick Green, with Wob, Barnstormer, and a host of local choirs, school bands and all manner of bizarre gubbins. There is, we hear, some local opposition to the event from people who believe it should end by ten o'clock. In the words of the poet - 'Bollocks to that!'
A Note from the Chairman
In an effort to convince you that he is still alive, the cynical hard-faced apparatchiks in central office have concocted a bogus message from the near catatonic Chairman. This, we are told, is standard practice, and we would be failing in our duty to you all if we did not go through the motions. Here then, for all those devoted worshippers, are the latest in the thoughts of Chairman Meow: 'Mmmmppppppppuuuuurrrrrrrrr… uuuhhhh…mmmfff….huuh… mmmmm… meeooooowwwww…. mmeeeeow… mee.. - What's this cheap swill you're feeding me again?'
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