Today, shorn temporarily of my two staunchest BPS stalwarts, (one of whom is sunning himself somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere), I had decided to launch 2014 musically with an ambitious plan. This was to fulfil prior simultaneous invitations to three different venues by turning up at each and doing a solo spot. Arrangements were made weeks ago, and being the sweet innocent old thing I am, I felt a curious twitch of loyalty to attend each one. Having appeared at all of them previously. As things turned out, although the day began well, and continued well, lack of stamina, lack of food and depression got the better of me during the third and final stage. At which point, match abandoned.
Following a particularly painful early morning blood test, my good lady and I set out for The Larder, a rather splendid World War Two-themed Café in Long Street, Atherstone. Having joined in an afternoon session there before, I was keen to return. We arrived early so as to better sample the cuisine. We had a pot of tea. I chose Lamb minted sausages with Bubble & Squeak for my wartime main meal, with my partner opting for Asparagus and Chicken Pie. Both were served in enamel plates and the cutlery was from Sheffield. Each of us had a rather naughty pudding with custard, also.
Thus fortified, I was ready to entertain the troops, or at least a handful of bedraggled shoppers who were gathering to sample the entertainment on offer. By this time, also there were Finger in The Jar ft. Phil Benson, Malc Gurnham with Gill Gilsenan and John and Elaine Meechan. This meant there were several guitars I could kick over in the confined spaces and a few bellows-operated instruments I could stand upon. We sang in rounds, some slightly more and longer than others. I did "Over The Hills and Far Away", (military theme) "Chicken on A Raft " (military and food theme) and I finished with Ry Cooders "Jesus on The Mainline." The latter featuring a verse dedicated to Waitresses, which got a thumbs up from the proprietors.
Return traffic was heavy, it quickly got dark and it began to rain. This, and diversions due to impending roadworks slowed us down. So I had time only for a quick turn around at home before tootling off back up the A5 to join in with Hinckley Act's January Club Night. This was a Performer's night, where I'd pre-booked a floor spot. I'd also arranged to pick up a recording of our featured spot there last month. It turned out to be of the highest quality, and I am indebted to Pam Allardyce and engineer for the night Dennis for offering this super facility.
Although a few people belittle this venue, as "not a folk club" in my experience it is a well run professional venue, with no evidence of cliquishness. The people who run it show artistes a lot of individual respect and attention. They know how to run what is a quality sound system effectively. It is very democratically run, efficiently organised and everyone involved with Hinckley Act is courteous, friendly and attentive. Performers can pick their chosen slots on arrival, and pre-booked performers are allotted a pre-agreed time which they can fill with what they want. This minimises time-wasting chit chat and tuning up disguised as singing. It maximises the quantity and quality of performed items.
I arranged for an early first half spot, so that I could drive cross-country to make the second half at Bedworth Folk Club. The special guests at Hinckley were Neville Cooper and Harry Heppinstall. They opened up with some very classy guitar and percussion arrangements. I followed the excellent Mark John, a performer who improves his guitar technique and pleasant singing style each time I see him.
I sang "Bonio Romeo " and " If I were a Goat," two self-written comedy numbers. They got plenty of chuckles from an audience who appreciated the puns and imagery. I stayed on to listen to Steve Adams and Dave Fry. Steve delivered three waspish original songs with that classic style he has made his own. Dave was still a little flu'ed up, so in a pensive kinda mood. But his guitar playing and his comedy were spot on. " I apologise in advance for leaving early," he explained, " but the wife has got a nasty bout of laryngitis and I don't want to miss a minute of it. "
As the first half drew to a close I made my apologies and left Watling Close. I drove 16 miles to The Black Bank through torrential rain and hail and across rapidly flooding roads. This took in a detour to Bedworth Rugby Club, having got the two venues mixed up. That increased the overall mileage, and gave me a migraine. The pub car park was full when I got there so after about ten minutes shunting round I had to park in a street opposite.
All this did not improve my temper. Nor did hearing how great all the other acts had been, when I at last got in there, and how, because of that, I'd get only one quick song, if I was lucky. I don't blame anyone for that. That's how it is sometimes. I looked at all the other assembled performers already there. It was evident that I was just not worthy.
A rancid glass of Old Golden Hen did little to appease the Vapours. If that really was Golden Hen, then I'm Ralph McTell. It must have stepped in something on its way out of the coop. I decided that in this instance, discretion definitely was the better part of valour. For the sake of everybody's health, I made my apologies and left, as surreptitiously as I could. Without singing. As the old song goes, "Two out of three ain't bad. " I cut my losses, and went home to take some Paracetamol and grab a bite to eat. During the second half of the day, I'd travelled 48 miles, sung six numbers, and got soaked four times. I'd experienced all the highs and lows of self esteem inside eight hours. I'd had some good food and a few laughs. And I'd collected that CD. It really does make us sound good. Even the singing on it is half decent.
