Friday January 5th 2018

First night back in the New Year and everyone seemed genuinely pleased to see old friends, a pleasant change after all the false bonhomie of the Christmas period (did I ever mention that I could easily live without it?).

Andrew decided to set the bar to it’s lowest rung and therefore put me on first. “Cousin Jack” is a song about the Cornish diaspora of the late 19th C. After taking advice on the pronunciation of “diaspora”, I took sides with Mr. West, who had spent his life teaching a language (albeit a dead one) rather than Mr. Pritchard , who had spent much of his life sucking sputum up pipettes.

Brian, despite the tropical heat in the room, insisted on wearing his technicolour dreamcoat (more like a nightmare) the whole evening. He had been on the stage less than 30 seconds when he again broke the microphone. He eventually sang a jolly, topical song about transportation. His guitar was out of tune, but it had slipped his notice that he had an electronic tuner clipped to the headstock. My New Year’s resolution was to only write nice things about Brian, who receives a disproportionate amount of stick. How am I doing? The concertina was beautiful.

Adrian had already broken his resolution to learn new songs. The tune was a stickless, hankieless dance.

Alun on the other hand had been busy. Not only had he bought yet another guitar, claiming it was by accident, he also had a shiny new song, “The snows they melt the soonest”, from the N.E. of England, not a Geordie accent to be heard. Howay the lads.

Mike was getting the most from his new Christmas jumper (in all fairness, it’s simply “wintry”). A few weeks ago, T Gwyn and I mentioned that he should start singing Tennyson’s “Crossing the Bar” again. Lo and Behold! Lovely song, beautifully delivered. For those not familiar, it’s about death rather than going to buy a round.

Jeff had suffered no health problems over the missing couple of weeks. It must have been a very large cracker that held his joke; it took up what should have been half his spot.

T Gwyn took us to the break with Betjeman’s Myfanwy. This is still available to listen to on our Soundcloud thingy, should you be in need of some arousal in the nether regions.

The raffle thankfully contained little in the way of unwanted Xmas gifts, but we were introduced to THE SNOWBALL!!! This proved too complex a concept for many. Each week a small white numbered polystyrene ball will be drawn from a bag (sorry, not Jeff’s scrotum). Mike will look up the corresponding membership number in his little book and the winner will win a cash prize. It started off at £5 last night, rolling over plus an additional £5 each week till it’s won (subject to an as yet undetermined maximum). THE MEMBER HAS TO BE PRESENT ON THE NIGHT TO WIN.  Rob Caton wasn’t there so next week you’ll have a chance of a tenner, but only if you’re there. It’s a bit like those machines in the bookies that they’re trying to ban.

Vin opened part 2 with “Letter to Hank”. I was expecting some interesting rhymes.

Time for a round of ones before we finished off with the never ending “Bloody Blood Red Roses”. How I hate that song.

These days, Adrian has warmed to the use of electronic equipment, so we are able to bring you “The Two Men of Bristol City”. Did I mention how good Brian was last night?

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