Even more gig news.

So much for the 'No Passports Required' Tour. We think we're off to darkest Wiltshire at the end of October for a gig, somewhere South-east of Devizes. Still awaiting final confirmation, so it's probably still a secret at this stage.

Gig news

A posse of TLOGS headed for a local pub where we're booked to play a beer festival at the end of August, because it suddenly dawned on us that, ahem, terms had not been discussed. Anyway, we had a few pints of Gribble's Old Bowel Loosener and then tentatively raised the issue with the glamorous bar staff. We mentioned our usual fee, and there was a tumbleweed moment....silence fell on the whole pub.....and, it seemed, fifty square miles of surrounding countryside. So we returned to our Grumbling's Old Spleen Churner slightly chastened, and got on with deciding what would be the best way for the TLOGS to meet a true rock'n'roll end. Favourite was carbon monoxide poisoning while on tour in a very dodgy Mercedes Sprinter that Dave had picked up for fifty quid from a mate. Second favourite was being swamped by the effluent of an exploding anaerobic digester - ten million gallons (sorry, Tod: 45,454,545 litres) of slurry/maize/banana skins and potato peelings. What a way to go.

Anyway, we await the pub's decision.

Incidentally, my PAM was about 2.20pm the next day.

That chord....

Here are some thoughts on it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3kNlD9YMJ4&feature=related

At last another rehearsal

At last, another rehearsal. Inevitably, after a run of highly successful gigs, it was a bit of a shambles. (Old Chinese saying: 'Better to have shambles in Shed 3b than velly large cock-up during huge gig.')

There were several possible reasons for the shambles, apart from the complacency that sets in when the summer has been going so well.

1. We were all deeply affected by the tragic news about Amy Winehouse. Unfortunately, our plans to have a moment's silence were wrecked when it turned out that at least half the band thought she had passed away several years ago. The Daily Mash puts it better than I ever could.

http://www.thedailymash.co.uk/news/society/britain-decides-not-to-boycott-every-last-detail-of-winehouse-death-201107254115/

2. It was very hot. We were an unexpected full house and summer seemed to have arrived. They said it would be on a Monday this year.

3. John had a cold.

4. Ian kept throwing his sticks around.

5. There was no lager (see 3)

But we all had a very jolly evening, although the suggestion did crop up that a band who can't master a Quo number ought to think about taking up another hobby.

You know you're in the Old Gits when...

At one time, the 'Old Gits' name wasn't strictly accurate; there were three band members who dragged the average age of the band down to somewhere in the mid-thirties. But in the last year, things have changed. Our sprightly young drummer has vanished up north, and Ian has replaced him. Jesse has left us and gone all Brighton. And there are rumours that Tessa might be unavailable from this Autumn. the average age will have shot back up to, ooh, very late 40s.

But there are other ways that we genuinely earn the 'Old Gits' moniker. During the interval at Kilmeston, there was an outbreak of salad eating. It wouldn't be fair to name the bunny-food eater, but it effing-well came as an effing surprise to the effing rest of us. And then there was a general outbreak of agreement on the merits - healthy eating and general weight loss - of such a diet. This lead to the suggestion that perhaps we should have a weigh-in in Shed 3b on a Monday night. Perhaps even have a Hinton Ampner branch of Weight Watchers.

Inevitably, there were then suggestions that if we were put on a strict diet, we should rename ourselves.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, will you please welcome on stage: The Gastric Band...."

Kilmeston again

It was an evening when many things were missing, some more significant than others.

First on the absentee list was Tessa, otherwise engaged. Thankfully, the wet weather meant that we had Dan back, so only a slight reshuffle of songs was needed. Of more significance was the lack of punters. You couldn't really blame them; the useless idiotic slack-jawed brain-dead git-faced morons at the Met Office had spent the whole week warning people not to do anything outdoors this weekend, as heavy rain and strong winds would make it impossible.

In the end, it was a wet morning, but as the photo shows, the evening was sunny and dry, if a bit cool and windy. If the overpaid Climate Change Zealots spent a little more time doing weather forecasts instead of their Chicken Licken Anthropogenic Global Warming routine, we'd all be better off. Harrumph. And if anyone had dared mention 'Global Warming' to the good people of Kilmeston who did turn up (sitting under the shelters, wrapped up in coats and jumpers) they may have found a chicken wing inserted where the mid-July sun don't shine.

Also missing was last year's flimsy tent, thankfully replaced by something a bit more roomy and sturdy. And sadly, there was no sign of the lady specialising in the arse-over-tit routine in the ditch, or the mustachioed ticket-seller. The slightly worse-for-wear man was back, but luckily stayed out of the performance tent.

Highlights of the evening included a beautiful 'Happy Birthday' for Nicola, lowlights included Charlie coming in after the big build up to Caroline (One, two, ah-one, two, three, four..) in completely the wrong key. Kerrang, as they say. Dan throwing his set-list all over the floor was also quite entertaining, as was the blind panic of trying to get it all back in his file.



Anyway, we had a lot of fun (more comment from the floor about how we seem to enjoy ourselves) and stayed dry. There's now a bit of a gap before the next big one; perhaps the sun will shine and we'll get some harvest done. Perhaps I should ask the Met Office when that might be...or not.

Harvest

There are ugly rumours of harvest starting in some parts of the County....it could play havoc with our guitar line-up. I thought everyone knew that harvest should start on a Monday in July starting with a 2.

Something tells me that this weekend's weather might ground the combines for a bit, and solve the problem.

The long trek to Hinton Ampner House...

After a Saturday off (giving much-needed time to the physio team to work intensively on Ian's numerous drumming-related injuries), we found ourselves packing the trailer with all the kit ready for the long hike to our next gig. Much debate ensued about sheeting the trailer: would the weather hold long enough? Where do we put Hermann the German? (Dan was stuck in Scotland, and he usually packs the trailer) One look at the farm tarpaulin, which is more hole than canvas thanks to Mr and Mrs Mouse and their 10,000 closest friends, and we took a chance on it, and set off for the long hike to the next gig.

Four hundred yards later, we arrived. The early omens did not look brilliant: the picturesque property of Hinton Ampner House was not exactly heaving with punters - and those that were strolling gently round the beautiful gardens seemed to be of an age that justified the ambulance parked in the grounds. We were reduced by the intricacies of EasyJet's booking system to just one guitarist, and Tessa was going to be late.

'Hmm, this will be an interesting evening,' we thought, and set about unpacking the trailer, which, despite not having been packed by Dan the trailer-packer (which is not at all like fudge-packing, btw) had somehow managed to retain its load.






Things immediately looked up: the Trust had laid on a fantastic tent: at one end was a stage with real grown-up electric supplies, and at the other end was a bar (only one free pint per band member boo hiss bad luck John) and a large pig being barbecued (one bap each boo hiss again bad luck Charlie). And as if to emphasise how the evening would go, as soon as we cleared the trailer, the heavens opened.

After setting up and a quick sound check, it was home for tea'n'cakes.


Dave and Ian hit the rock'n'roll coke.

When we finally got going, it was to an audience of not very many, scattered round the outside of the tent. But numbers gradually grew, as did the appreciation. I spotted an elderly and utterly respectable lady sitting off to my left, who looked as if she was mumbling to herself. I assumed that she was cursing the noise and young people in general, and then spotted that she was in fact singing along, word-perfect, to Lola.



In the end, it turned into a fairly intimate gig - almost like playing a small club. No body seemed to mind when we messed up a couple, and then had a row on stage about whose fault it was. There was an outbreak of Charlioke while Tod had to sort out a broken string, and then, with our second-to-last song, the dam broke, and the floor suddenly filled with dancers. And, at twenty past our allotted finish time, the Nation Trust head honcho approached; I was expecting the instruction to stop at once, but in fact, he was demanding that we do one more! And so 'Hard Day's Night' was trotted out again. Give us another few goes, and we'll sort out the chord sequence.

And, thanks to our early finish, we had everything back in Shed 3b by ten thirty.
Fantastic.

More dates

Perhaps it's time to re-name the 'No Passports Required' Tour as the 'Let's All Pray That Harvest Finishes Early' Tour, now that we have been asked to play at the Cheriton Beer Festival - the third gig in eight days in late August.

Pictures from Livestock '11

The wig-swapping was well underway by this stage....



I just hope that everyone got back the hairpiece they came with.