StingRayBoy42

Remind me NEVER to diss your shoes! Not that I would of course... far too much of a gentleman.

Just worked out that's why it's called Pitchers! 😳 EDIT: Just realised Pitchers is also a sport thing *and* a drinking thing, so for a sports bar that used to be a cinema... 👌 I blame the lack of sleep.

You have not missed out.

Yep, that's the place!

Apart from fat, old, bearded, ale-swilling, middle class pricks called things like Jeremy and Rupert... and who wouldn't want to be friends with them?!

There was a bloke taking photos... if anyone misbehaves I'll share them. This is the sort of getup I wear though-

If you're suggesting I'm some sort of sad, pathetic nerd who is not only pedantic enough to care about things like that, but also obsessive enough to check and take some weird, warped sense of pride in it, you'd be pretty much bang on.

Busy this weekend, yeah... three gigs (and a M*rr*s thing) next weekend as well but unfortunatley it's not always like that - I go weeks without a gig sometimes. No NYE gig (anyone need a dep?!) and nothing in January at all, so plenty of free time to question my life decisions/have nervous breakdowns etc I can only be friends with people who think Morris Dancing is stupid (I certainly do), so I think we're good on that score.

SUNDAY That's today. Up at 4:45 AM to play Sousaphone for the annual Beorma Morris (the only Morris side with its own safe word) winter solstice sunrise danceout at the Rollright Stones (it's a stone circle near Chipping Norton). You've probably seen Morris dancing... fat, old, bearded, middle class pricks called things like Jeremy and Rupert, dressed all in white, wearing bells, dancing round a maypole, drinking tankards of foaming ale, waving hankies around, right? Well, that's Cotswold Morris - a summer tradition from the Cotswolds (!). Beorma (foisting tradition on the unwary since 2012) are a Border Morris side (that's what we call the teams/gangs/groups) which is a winter tradition from the Welsh borders (!) - a different vibe to Cotswold. Border sides dress mostly in black, wear scruffy tailcoats or tattered rags type outfits, paint their faces (but not black anymore, not after 'the great morris argument' of a few years ago that we won't go into here), wear top hats decorated with feathers, leaves, playing cards, spoons, brass goggles, fairy lighs... whatever you want. Border is a lot scruffier, more rough & ready, very shouty, we clout sticks together and only use hankies for blowing our noses. It's a bit steampunk, a bit goth.... I won't use the word 'cool', because it's still Morris dancing, but you get the idea. There is some crossover (and a jokey 'rivalry') between Cotswold and Border - they share a few dances, some people dance both, we often have danceouts with lots of sides from lots of Morris styles, and to be fair, Border morris has it's fair share of fat, old, bearded middle class pricks drinking lots of ale. Anyway, up before 5 o'clock, kit on (kilt, new rocks, tailcoat, top hat - like I say.. Steampunk vibe), pick up Birmingham's best non-binary, Japanese, Morris dancing, lindy-hopping, Jazz tromboning (not a euphemism) fiddle player (she's they're called Monet, she's they're lovely (How do non-binary people kill each other? They slash them.)), an hour drive to the Rollrights to get there for 7, mill about for a bit, process around the circle three times (no idea why, I think it's a pagan thing?), call the quarters (no idea what or why, pagan thing maybe?), dances, watch the sunrise on the shortest day (ish - we don't do it on the actual solstice, there's too many weirdos about), poems (no idea), a mummers play (like a medieval pantomime), more dances, all utterly ridiculous and good fun, or at least slightly better than not doing it. After that, head to Banbury, do a few dances at Banbury Cross, then off to a *proper* greasy spoon (Jenny's?) for a full on, gut-busting slap up breakfast (sixteen of us, all in full kit, top hats and white face paint), quick stop in Cash Convertors (just the two of us, still in full kit) where I didn't buy a Trevor James Soprano Sax, then back to Brum to drop off Brum's best NBJMDLHJTFP then home, all the while ignoring the funny noise my car has started making. Played the Sousaphone, wore New Rocks. Back about 3PM to empty the car, load up the car for work tomorrow (two keyboards, two guitars, a Bass, a PA speaker, a guitar amp, an electric drunkit, a tabletop electric drumkit, a massive heavy bag of stands, leads, mixer etc and a fold-up trolley), a pint of Henry Weston's Vintage cider (8.2%ABV), mild hallucinations due to sleep deprivation, questions about my life decisions, the Sunday Bass Direct email and that weird nagging feeling that I haven't done my homework for school tomorrow. Last week of term next week - five gigs, three school concerts, two nervous breakdowns, one rehearsal and a partridge in a pear tree. If you've read this far, DM me and recommend a decent sanitorium in the West Midlands, or just call me an idiot.

SATURDAY! That definitely was last night. Cantina Band at some place called Pitchers in Tamworth. Em (you remember her... from the awful shopping centre carol thing we did? She bought me the fingerless gloves? That's the one.) is from thereabouts and reckoned it used to be one of the best places in Tamworth but had recently reopened, so her and a couple of wind band/Jazz orchestra mates came down to see what it was like (and to see us. A bit). When I arrived at the postcode I'd been given, my blood ran cold, my heart sank, my bowels turned to liquid and it was all I could do to stop myself from running screaming back to civilisation, begging forgiveness from the Almighty (other deities are still available). Emblazoned above the door, spewed in neon hatred was most loathsome two-word phrase in the English language (except maybe 'Inoperable tumour' perhaps, or 'Piers Morgan'?)... 'Sports Bar'. You know the sort of place, there's at least one in every town and city (if you have a shred of humanity or the faintest glimmering of a soul, you will have avoided them), horribly bright lights, shiny surfaces, painfully loud thumping dance music (I love loud music, but not to the point of being able to actually physically feel it jolting my sternum with every beat), two hundred and eighty seven enormous TVs all showing boxing (I can't see the appeal of watching two oiled, semi-naked men battering one another into unconsciousness/submission in front of an unruly mob who are goading them on , but I digress)... and we've turned up to play classic rock (and McFly). Still, best foot forward and all that... think of the money. The punters watched us set up with a mixture of horror, amusement, naked hostility and disdain (apart from Em and her mates... they were on side (singer and guitarist's WAGs (both lovely) were there as well, so not a totally barren field)). Stage was nice and big, so setup was decent (we dumped our bags and cases and stuff in the DJ booth (an actual booth this time), then the DJ arrived and asked us to move it all. You'd think I'd have learned (learnt? I'm never sure which is right) by now.) Massive place with a really high ceiling (and a mezzanine floor where you can play pool!) and we don't use PA for backline (apart from the kick drum) so I had to 'go nuclear' and turn the Markbass volume up to four! (It was still too loud so I turned it down to three (and a half). I love that amp.) First set was met with pretty much total indifference (apart from Em's crew and the WAGs, they gave us some encouraging whoops and a bloke in a wheelchair had a dance (in his wheelchair, we're not miracle workers)), second set was slightly better, a couple of people at the bar sang (and air guitared) along to Sweet Child o' mine and Teen Spirit and we even had a few dancers up for the Slade christmas one ("Of course I remember it!" (I started to remember it halfway through verse 1... went OK after that)), went for a wireless wander to join Em at the bar (and encouraged her to pluck my G string) which was a hoot, the DJ made us do an encore that neither audience or band wanted, a couple of blokes said they'd enjoyed it as we were packing up (I think that's what they were saying - the music had progressed from merely sternum-jolting to skull-shatteringly loud... they were smiling, anyway) so not as bad a gig as it could have been. It was nice to have a few mates there and to show off (?) a totally different side of my playing (they're used to hearing me play Duke Ellington, Gershwin and Glenn Miller) and they all enjoyed it (especially the McFly one) so... yeah, I'll take that. If you've read this far, you should DM me and recommend an album I should listen to. Or just call me an idiot. Played the Sterling -> small board -> secret weapons -> MB CMD121, Tiger/leopard print Converse. Finished at a reasonable ish hour, paid, packed up, Beth Orton on the way back to my Birmingham estate (Dad's place) for a pint a Father's homebrew Mango, Pineapple and Spiced Rum cider (ABV unknown) and lovely cats. Bed about 1. Early start tomorrow!

THURSDAY! I know that's not last night, shut up, I've been busy. Dysfunctionals 3 piece at O'Neill's, Broad St Birmingham. It was a private party - works do for Mitchell & Butlers, a local brewery so we weren't really sure what to expect. Parking in the middle of Brum was fun, load in had unfortunately all been done by the time I'd found a parking space (I was LIVID, as you can imagine) setup was a total pain as the stage is tiny and we had to share it with the DJ (We dumped all our bags and cases and stuff on/under/around the DJ booth (table) then found out there was going to be a DJ so we had to cart everything out to the van (which had somehow bagged a parking spot right outside, thankfully)). We were set to go on at 9, then the manager asked us if we could go on at half nine as people would still be arriving at 9, no problem, actually can you go on at 9:45 as there's still not that many here... we went on about 10 to a packed house, all completely pissed, total baying mob who absolutely loved it. We had a mate doing the sound which was nice. First set went down a storm, dancefloor was packed from start to finish, great reception, good stuff! Quick vape break, queued at the bar for about two years to get a pint, back on for the second set, similar reception to the first set but more drunken (them, not us), went for a wireless wander in the last song which went down a treat, two encores before the DJ took over with ear-splitting thumpishite (thank God (other deities are available) for the ACS lugplugs). Played the StingRay (I love that Bass. Daisy (Goddaughter) gets it when I die) -> small board -> secret weapons (VTDI -> Thumpinator) -> MB802 -> PA, Cherry Red/Oxblood DMs. Pack up/load out was horrible as all the cases were in the van and there was no room to load them back in, so we had to empty them out of the van, then take stuff out of the venue *in order*, fill the cases in the street (and they say it's not a glamourous business!) and load them back into the van... nightmare. All done, Ben Folds on the way home, back about 1:30 (ON A SCHOOL NIGHT!), a tiny tot of Diplomatico Rum (40% ABV), bed for 2, up at 7 for work. Worked (I had a school concert (I teach primary school kids to play in rock bands) but that doesn't really count as a gig so I won't bore you with the details (Tiger/leopard print Converse and my work 3/4 size Jackson super pointy Bass if you must know)), then went out with one of my schools work dos, which was lovely but not a gig, so I won't bore you with the details of that either. Running on fumes by the end of the night.

That is hideous. I love it.

People don't believe me when I tell them I've got a favourite Spandau Ballet song, but it's True.