Friday June 14th 2019

As a special treat this week , the blog is being written by me, Robshaw. I believe an honest appraisal will come as a breath of fresh air when compared to the drivel turned out each week by that toadying sycophant, the ex dentist.

The supposedly regular but seldom present EmCee turned out this week and promised some great music. He didn’t mention anything about the dross we had to wade through before the good stuff came.

The first turn was a fat lad called Alun double barrel Jones. I remember someone with a similar name from years back, but he was a thin lad with dark hair and played a proper accordion, not the glorified Stylophone (batteries not included) that this bloke had.

His set quickly passed and he was followed by a Mr. Adrian West. Ex teacher. Having experience in this field, I can tell you that teaching is one up from a paper round. A 5 hour day and 3 months paid holiday. As Mark Knopfler once said, “Money for nothing and your chicks for free” (generally frowned upon if you taught at a primary school). Also, apparently, a Morris dancer. Speaks volumes.

Me being dead for getting on for ten years, I no longer have to worry about John Shepherd fixing my teeth, although to be fair he wasn’t the butcher everyone else said he was. What could only be described as an error strewn set. He’s had that guitar for 29 years this month, you think he’d have had time to get some lessons. Mike Hawkins wisely missed John’s set by nipping out to the bog.

Mike Hawkins. Couldn’t be arsed to play an instrument, although to be fair his singing wasn’t bad. His first song came with the chorus in Portuguese and French. A bit pretentious and doomed to failure with the numpties in the audience. Nelson would be turning in his barrel of brandy. At least we drowned him out in the chorus of “N W Passage”.

We were fortunate tonight that the bloke who plays the dreadful concertina was away again, presumably still got the shits. The next “highlight” of the night was a Jeff Blythin, who, in contrast, had verbal diarrhoea (I always have to Google that word for the spelling). Most of his allotted time was taken up recalling his mis- spent youth. It was so long ago, I’m surprised he can remember it.

A few weeks ago, a fiddle player called Jim turned up. The half wit of an EmCee got his name wrong; a bit of a slap in the face really. However Jim must be fairly thick skinned and is obviously at a loose end, living somewhere near Bala, and turned up again with his fiddle. Ever considered learning some songs, Jim?

We thought it would never come – the Beer Break. This week’s star prize in the raffle was a rubber chicken with a squeaky valve stuck up it’s  arse (or do they have a cloaca?), brought all the way from Kiev by the trainspotter.

It was Margaret’s birthday.

Her mate Edna had brought a cake in, but had to settle for one candle for each of her ten years. Edna demonstrated the knife skills endemic in all Scousers as she carved up the cake with a large blade she happened to have on her person, imagining it to be an Everton supporter.

All too soon the break was over.

T Gwyn did some tuneless songs, often described as poems. One was mildly amusing.

Thankfully, there was only time for just one each in the second half, plus two from Andy Gallagher, who had turned up very late to be certain of missing John Shepherd.

Andy spent his formative years in the Strathclyde area, but despite having spent much of his later life in civilisation, he still appears to have only a tenuous grasp on the English language. Sub-titles would have helped. At least he put Jeff’s guitar in tune. One of Andy’s offerings was a Scots poem; without the subtlety of Betjeman, it was pure filth and innuendo.

Probably the highlight of the second half (indeed the night) was when the woman with the camera “played” the rubber chicken, almost as out of time as the ex dentist’s song she was accompanying.

Still waiting for the good stuff to arrive, it was time to bog off home. Despite all the crap, I somehow managed to have a good night; I had a couple of wet patches on my fur – one on my leg from laughing and a damp cheek after the fat lad with the Stylophone played “Mrs Robshaw’s Fancy”, a tune he’d written for my mum. That’s all from me, “Robshaw”. My podgy furry fingers find it difficult to use a keyboard, so it will be back to the usual flunky next week.






One Response to “Friday June 14th 2019”

  1. Andrew The Younger Says:

    but fair.
    I had to double check the top of the screen: Thought I’d accidentally strayed onto the TLS website.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: