Friday June 7th 2019.

Storm Miguel, illness and the Spice Girls had taken their toll and we were, to be honest, a bit thin on the ground tonight.

We were a bit late starting, due to AWR having to queue at the chippy. Andrew has brought a new member to the club – club mascot “Robshaw”. Named after Ted, who was one of the club’s most influential members and still sorely missed, it is hoped that Robshaw will be able to write a few blogs and possibly be taken along to events further afield to write reviews.

Brian, the Campylobacter Kid, was back! Having lost a stone, he was reminiscent of a figure from a Lowry painting. In retrospect, the medium rare chicken may have been a mistake. In his time away ill, he’d learnt some new old songs. The few stumbles with words may have been avoided if he’d performed the songs in the position where he’d been practising them, with his trousers round his ankles. I must phone the pub to cancel the butties we’d ordered for the wake.

There were several songs tonight to commemorate D Day. Mike’s rendition of “Green Fields of France” was the first, beautifully delivered as always. What happened to “D Day Dodgers”, Mike? This week all the politicians had been making sure they’d been photographed and filmed with the veterans from Normandy. The giant “easy peeler” was there from the U.S.; May was saying how much we owe these people, but presumably not so much that we provide them with adequate care in their old age. Corbyn didn’t show his face, keeping a low profile after expelling Alastair Campbell from the party after he’d voted for Israel in Eurovision. Farage watched it all in the pub. (We are a non-political organisation – that’s as balanced as you could get).

Mel came up with another new (to us) song, written by Harvey Andrews about some low-lifes who stole the brass plaque from a war memorial. In contrast, “Ghost Chickens in the Sky” was what we needed to give us a lift, although Brian had to rush to the bog at the mention of poultry.

Adrian was still dressed for summer, despite the torrential rain, plummeting temperatures and near gale force wind. When I was looking through my photos, I couldn’t fail to notice that Adrian has more hair in his ears than on his head. Needs to see Jeff’s Kurdish barber. “The man who waters the workers beer” was preceded by the now obligatory sneezing fit. Should have worn a jumper.

I also had some remembrance stuff, but the set was generally best forgotten. Miss Lowden, my guitar, had been down the pub drinking all afternoon after a win on the bingo and wasn’t behaving terribly well.

After the break we had a special treat when Glenys sang “We’ll Meet Again”, in black and white.

AWR introduced Jeff as “A Bob Dylan Tribute Act”. Many a true word?

Jeff had the best song line of the night with “Got a big tall mama, cracks nuts with her thighs”. He finished with a Dylan song. “Robshaw, as you can see, helped out with backing vocals.

Dafydd was “Bard of the night”. His pieces included work by Wilfred Owen and Laughing Leonard Cohen.

Despite low numbers, it was a crackerjack of a night. Thoughts go especially to Stuart, who won’t be wanting to sit down any time soon. Rush to the bog Brian, the Ghost Chickens are coming back to haunt you.

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One Response to “Friday June 7th 2019.”

  1. Sorry my rotten cold precluded my attanedance… You wouldn’t have wanted to catch this particular bug…! Very nice to hear of the return of our Brian after his recent poorliness. I’ll no doubt be back next Friday to banter along unreservedly.

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