The Tichborne Arms, April 2013

Sometimes a gig goes so well, and is so much fun, and is generally reckoned to be so excellent that words cannot accurately sum up the evening. So here's a picture of Tod outside the pub with a pink umbrella.

Come to think of it, that doesn't do the evening justice either. Let's just say that, for some reason, we clicked like never before, and played our socks off. We were as disciplined and tight as we've ever been - a sentiment shared by many of the punters, old and new, who showed up for an evening of outrageous booze-fueled Dad-dancing (and Mum-dancing).

One very frequent compliment was that noise levels out in front were such that conversation was just still possible, and the music - as a direct result - was far more enjoyable. I think the same applies this side of the speakers, too.

The evening ended in the now traditional way back at base, with a groupie climbing in to the lamb pen for a cuddle, sitting on a bale noisily demanding a milk bottle to feed them. and then making a bit of a spectacle of herself trying to clmb back out in the darkness. Sadly, the camera failed to record this historic image. So we'll just have to make do with Tod and his pink umbrella.