It had been an exciting day for me. Walked to and from Bramcote, bathed in warm sunshine, for the excellent Barracks Open Day there. Traction Engines, Gurkha Costumes, every kind of food you can imagine available from Nepalese to a Hog Roast: a Dakota fly-past: a Tunnel Brewery Beer Tent-what more could one want? Well, as a Nuneaton Boro' season ticket holder--to win a replica shirt on their Tombola stall. Did that, too. Unfortunately it was XXXS-would just about fit a large teddy bear. Oh well. Most excitingly of all (we're easily pleased-we don't get out much) we had a helicopter flight over our village.
How can you build on such a cracking day? How can you keep that kind of adrenalin buzz going? Well by nipping four miles over the Wolds, from Wolvey to Monks Kirby and joining Sly Old Dogs and friends for their monthly bash in The Bell.
Slightly more "friends" there than usual-with a bigger audience than last month, too. The SODs-Pete Willow, Richard Rider ,Paul Kenny and Bob Brooker were in good form. Amongst the friends assembled were Colin Squire, Martin Bushnell, Tony Super, "Banjo Dave" Evans, Sue Sanders, myself, Jaqui Lockwood, Lesley Tragear, Liz Rider-Grant and Mine host Landlord Paco, once again guesting on Spoons.
As always- an eclectic mix of material from the gathered company. Traditional, Celtic, Instrumental. World music, contemporary, moody, jolly:unrequited love: awful tragedies at sea. Pathos, humour, local colour, allegory, parody and protest. Well that's Bob's contribution covered. On to the rest.
Actually, Bob did seem uncharacteristically pensive. His first number was one of the 8,000 or so featured on his CD's-and it was a request. (I can corroborate this-I saw the transaction!). It was the atmospheric "Bridlington Quays." This featured a haunting whistle solo. Bob manfully played on, as something to his left appeared to topple noisily over during the quietest bit. Later on, we had another whistling incident, when a similarly poignant solo briefly went awol. Richard appeared to have something trapped in his. (oo-er missus!). I reckon he'd got a peanut stuck in it.
Bob shared with the audience his puzzlement over the "funny ads" appearing and scrolling on the right hand side of his Facebook Page. Well Bob, these are usually triggered by other sites which you have previously visited. Google et al snoop on us all and then pluck out of the cyber ether, (and post on your timeline), similar themes they feel might be of um, interest. Their logic is, well..odd at times. I haven't yet shared with Bob that I am an RSPB member and a Rail Enthusiast. (I'd never get home). Perhaps he'd been looking at tits earlier on? Anyway, it was dating sites that were bothering him, and he was sick of it, he told us.
Sue Sanders continues to bloom, with some lovely fiddle-playing. She played a couple of solo instrumentals, and generally helped adding to the overall body of sound. With Martin Bushnell tickling the rosin right across the other side of the room, we had the luxury of two fiddles and two banjos (n stereo) at times.
Pete trialled a new song with a rousing chorus about being bloody fed up. (I'm paraphrasing here). Combined with Pete's percussive guitar playing, it certainly got the message across. Then we were treated to not one, but three different female singers. Jacqui trialled a new guitar which looked like an Ovation, but I couldn't see the name. She has a strident but tuneful voice, and an amazing laugh. I would pay her to sit in a Black Parrot Seaside audience with a laugh like that. The ladies' women chicks damsels girls (they might like that one?) treated us to several songs including Dylan's Baby Blue. Complete with that fabulous line containing the simile "Crying like a fire in the sun". What an image. For me, the pick of their combined performances was "Crazy Man Michael." A Fairport tune, and one of my favourite tracks from one of my favourite bands on possibly their best album. A brave and true attempt at a much loved Sandy Denny song. Ah...the memories.
Other gems continued. The whole room singing (and barking!) along with Paul's unique version of The Irish Rover. A typically frenetic medley including "I'll Tell me Ma," with key changes coming so thick and fast, to make a musician's fingers ache. Colin Squire kept them on their toes further by announcing a few songs in what must have been fairly challenging keys. "F!" he shouted. " But it's Sunday Night!" One of the original Sly Old Dogs exclaimed, plaintively. Just kidding. They could get a pure note out of a dinner plate on a stick. Tony Super warbled a couple- "Lizzie Lindsay" holding a significance for me he could not possibly know.
Me? Oh, I went blatantly for safety. "Lakes of Ponchartrain," to start with. "Black Velvet Band," to follow. And a Black Parrot Seaside song to finish. Bob had earlier sung another sad song-"Beddorth Gold." This reflects on the mining and industrial heritage of this fine old town, and laments its struggles to replace old industries with new. (There's quite a few songs about Beduff!"
It seemed apt then, to lighten the sadness of Bob's song with the extended mix of "On Bed'orth Bank." It's not strictly just about Bedworth-it maligns other Warwickshire towns as well! Here was another reason why I like going to The Bell. Singing unaccompanied, "Bed'orth" is difficult. There is a musical bridge between verse and chorus. If I'm appearing solo I'll get a good singing audience to bridge it with me, using diddley diddly dum tablature. To my delight, as I was explaining this to them, Sue (a Beduff Folk Club regular) sitting behind me, picked out the "bridge" perfectly on her fiddle. So I had the enjoyable performance of the audience laughing at all the jokes, whilst singing the chorus expertly, and the whole musical company fiddling, strumming and plucking away melodiously behind me. If we ever re-record it- we'll do a "live " version at Monks Kirby!
Wow! What a day! I hurried home to catch the Final of The Conferations Cup. Brazil v. Spain at The Maracana. I managed up until the last ten minues, by which time Brazil's Total football had put them into an unassailable lead 3-0 against the hitherto unbeaten Spaniards. At this point however, the long walk, the helicopter, the singing, the adrenalin-all fused into wavy line. When I woke up-the game was over. But only in a football sense.
