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.
Welcome to the website of the Thomas Lord Old Gits, mid-Hampshire's answer to Chumbawumba and Earth Wind and Fire, except that we're not an anarchic workers' collective, we're not American, and we do covers.
No comments:
Post a Comment