Pilton again!

Saturday the 23rd saw us back at the poshest Working Men's Club in the Wessvinglun, after a whistle-stop tour of local garages in search of a needle & thread to correct an unfortunate Wardrobe Malfunction that threatened to reveal to the world a pair of multicoloured leggings that Ruth had wisely elected to hide under a skirt... I still reckon the baling twine in the back of the van would have done the job, but then sartorial elegance was never my strongpoint.
A lot more people this time, though as usual they chose to lurk in the darkness at the back of the room, like wolves circling a campfire. For some reason, people seemed reluctant to respond to Chris's slightly threatening imprecations to "move a little closer", perhaps mindful of what happens when Hannibal Lecter says that...
It was pointed out later that our aging SM58 microphones are now so full of rust, spit, phlegm and beer that no-one could actually hear a word he was saying, which is possibly just as well.
The only ones who came onto the dancefloor were a large posse of small girls, who quickly discovered the 'sliding around' potential, and buffed up the parquet to a lovely shine by the end of the night.
We'll be back on St Patrick's night, so I guess we'd best practise a few jigs 'n' reels by then - and perhaps invest in at least one decent mike, so people can better appreciate the delicate nuances of the lyrics...

Talking of which, I wonder if I'm the only one puzzled by Mitsubishi's decision to advertise their latest planet-killing 4x4 monster truck with a cover of Dylan's 'Hard Rain'..?

http://bobdylan.com/songs/hardrain.html

Pilton Working Mens' Club

A cut above yer average Working Mens' Club, this venue on Saturday - lovely stage, lighting, dance floor, the works. Distinct lack of punters though, as is always the way when everything else is right...
We could have done without one particular punter though - quite the drunkest woman I've ever clapped eyes on (and that's saying something) staggered up to the stage while we were soundchecking to inform us how pissed she was. We'd guessed. I assumed she'd slide quietly beneath a table or be carried out before we started, but no - the lady wanted to dance...
I cocked up several songs due to fits of giggles as she repeatedly bounced off the edge of the stage, fell over on the dancefloor and crawled away on all fours, only to return for more. In between, she made a noise like a baboon with Tourettes' syndrome.
We kind of assumed she was a local 'character' who did this every week, but one of the locals sidled up to Chris in the break and asked: "Is she with you?" No! She isn't! Sure enough, at the end of the night she was poured into a taxi bound for Wells. I hope she had £50 to cover the valeting charge...
We're booked back here on the 23rd, a fortnight's time, so we must have gone down well. Chris had asked someone from the Glastonbury Festival down, but she didn't show this time, so maybe... oh. Oh dear. I really hope it wasn't...