Well, we all knew but it is good that after all this time it is confirmed. I have been thinking a lot in the past 24 hours of a great song by Ralph McTell which I haven’t sung for a while but which is entirely pertinent:-
WATER OF DREAMS
Oh, the other day, I had the strangest dream
I was walking down the street
There were banners and headlines everywhere
I stumbled into Blair Peach
And the first thing I said was
“I thought you were dead.”
“But you see me alive” says he.
“And who are these two men travelling with you?”
He said “this man’s called Towers,
And this man’s name is Kelly.”
Well the next thing I said was
“That wound to your head
It surely must get some attention.”
He said “at least I got mine
Out here on the street
These two got theirs in detention.”
And Kelly and Towers
Rolled up their shirts
And the pain was plain to see
And I looked away
I was lost for what to say
When somebody said to me,
If you can learn to live with your doubt
You will soon learn to live with the lies.
But the questions will rise on the water of dreams
And be washed to the shore
To be seen by your sleeping eye.
Well, the next thing I said was
“But you three are dead,
You’re only alive in my dream
And I never hurt you so why visit me?
I never did anything.”
Then the three of them looked
At each other a while
And then they all looked straight at me
“That’s right,” says Towers
“That’s right,” said Blair Peach
“That’s right, oh, that’s right,” said Jimmy Kelly.
Several posts ago I wrote about Julien Temple’s “Requiem For Detroit?” I watched another cracker from him yesterday – his biopic of the greatest rock’n’roll band the UK ever produced – Dr Feelgood.
The film, Oil City Confidential, is available to UK viewers on BBC iPlayer for another week or so but will be out on DVD later in the year.
The film brought back mixed emotions and memories. The most prominent was the memory of dancing a lot to Back in the Night with one of the girls and the church group I used to go to. She had no time for me otherwise but for some reason we always danced to that record! The second was memories of Feelgood when they showed up on The Old Grey Whistle Test and Wilko came to national fame with his nervous strutting presence and angular, economical Telecaster playing.
It was good to see and hear Wilko in Oil City Confidential being by turns informative, confessional and funny. It was good too to see film of the late Lee Brilleaux looking every inch the genial solicitor’s clerk off stage and a manic, malevolent force on stage.
One of the key influences they had on me was the way Wilco thrashed out the main riff of (Get Your Kicks On) Route 66 in a way I’ve never heard before or since. It wasn’t the riff itself, anyone can play that, it had a lot to do with his idiosyncratic right hand style and the lean precision of it – neither more nor less than required to drive the song along. I also liked how he rarely indulged in extended soloing and concentrated on stabbing out just the right notes to carry the instrumental passages along. Listen to their first album – Down By the Jetty – it’s on Spotify – and it’s all there from the first song, She Does it Right, with added Telecaster twang.
A quiet few days – literally so given the absence of noise from the airport – and no great philosophical musings to while away a blogging evening either. Mind you the absence, until today, of noise from the airport was a real pleasure. I turned into our street the other day and it took me a moment to realise how quiet it was and why that should be. I hadn’t realised just how much ambient noise came from the airport until it was gone and it was nice that it was gone.
The silence almost drowned out the rattle and clatter of the election campaign. The ebb and flow of the news coverage and the instant reactions to polls which track volatility rather than trends and can’t tell the difference between them are grating on my nerves quite badly. More to the point I made up my mind some time ago where my vote was going and nothing in the campaign has changed my mind (if anything it has reinforced some of my views).
In disappointing rapper news, DERT 2011 coincides with a “significant” birthday of Kirstin’s which takes priority. Better news is that we are scheduled to dance in Falkirk tomorrow which will be our first outing since Derby. We will be a bit make do and mend since one of our number is volcano-bound in Houston but that all adds to the fun.
Regarding this blog – I haven’t loaded any pictures into the gallery but haven’t forgotten about it: as ever, sloth is my watchword.
I have watched the last couple of days with a mixture of amazement and, it has to be said, amusement; amazement at the effect of a single volcanic eruption and amusement at the hubris of the commentators from the airline business whose assumed unchallenged right to the skies has been put firmly in its place. I am also amused by the attempts of newsreaders to avoid having to say “Eyafjallajoekull” and the manic look in their eyes when they interview an Icelander with a similarly constructed name.
It was suggested to me by rapper sword-maker Frank Lee that the inability to say “Eyafjallajoekull” is a key sign of not being a Geordie and I think that there is a mighty truth and wisdom in that. On the other hand, try as I might, I can’t find “Eyafjallajoekull” in Scott Dobson’s definitive “Larn Yersel’ Geordie” or it’s subsequent volumes so the conjecture remains doubtful. Mind, if it was Way-yafjallajoekull it would be authentically Geordie. Perhaps there were some early expeditions from Catchgate to what is now Reykjavík of which history knows nothing. Could this be why Icelanders invariably welcome strangers with “Way-yafjallajoekull, Bonnie Lad”?
Meanwhile, little bits of Iceland were on our car yesterday morning (and might have been today but it’s raining).
Another cracking Ashes to Ashes last Friday but a duff Dr. Who yesterday. The remade V was OK but I wait to be convinced. Stargate Unverse was good, I think, on its re-start.
We travelled down to Derby on Friday arriving to register around 7.30 in the evening giving us plenty of time to find where we were camping and set up and then head back to a pub to meet up with friends from other sides.
It was a good night – although it had consequences which I shall relate shortly. At this point I hadn’t eaten much beyond a large baguette in the mid afternoon and so I’d hoped to find a chippy for supper but there were only kebab shops which I didn’t fancy. The net result was that I didn’t have anything to eat.
After a not very wonderful night’s sleep (inflatable mattress in hall surrounded by people snoring) it was up to face the world and get ready to dance. It was a lovely day and it was a nice warm walk as we headed for the pub where we were due to practice – thankfully grabbing a sandwich and an apple on the way in an attempt to get some decent nutrition into me.
A welcome cup of tea set me up for the practice dance which went really well and did our confidence no end of good, as did the genuine words of encouragement from the sides with which we where touring – particularly Sallyport.
And then it was off to The Brewery Tap where we were due to have our first competitive dance. The dance was not the best we’ve done (and not as good, I thought, as our practice dance) but was fine none the less and you can see the evidence, if you wish, on YouTube.
See what you think:
The rest of the day went pretty well and our dancing was quite good although I was feeling oddly disengaged from the process. I was particularly pleased with our dancing of Winlaton in the Traditional Dance competition which we did on the basis of a quick run through in a pub beer garden. I had been drinking tea and orange juice all day and it was only after this dance that I had a beer and then went to eat a reasonable meal in a cafe nearby.
Earlier we had watched Phil Heaton and Aubs O’Brien being interviewed by a BBC crew who were making a documentary on traditional dance and had been filming extensively through the day. Phil and Aubs were playing everything deadpan while telling the most outrageous stories – and all around the rest of us were trying hard not to laugh so loud as to be picked up by the boom mic. The Sallyport dancers on stage were seriously corpsing (left). I’m still not sure whether the crew realised just how much was being extracted.
After an exhibition dance we were done and I permitted myself another beer but by this time I was feeling distinctly odd and once, when standing up too quickly from sitting, felt as though I were about to faint. We went along to another pub where everyone was settling in for an end of competition party but I was feeling well out of it, despite drinking more orange juice, and so I called it a night early and went back to try and sleep off whatever was wrong.
And what was wrong? Well last week my BP medication was changed from 10mg per day of Lisinopril to 20mg a day of Enalapril. Only when I checked the leaflet again did I spot the stuff about avoiding alcohol which, in sufficient quantity, increases the effects of the medication. So double the dosage and then have a few pints which increase the effect et voila! the welcoming party on the Friday night had almost certainly thrown my system completely out of balance.
A good night’s sleep and I was fine and was much bouncier on Sunday! In fact I would much rather have danced on Sunday than Saturday. Mind you “good” in the context of that sleep is relative – I slept well until the rest of the revellers returned just after 03.00 at which point I put earphones in to cut out the noise and get back to sleep!
I don’t want to downplay this – we had a great weekend and did well in the competition. I enjoyed the company a great deal and came away buzzing with ideas about directions in which we might travel as Mons Meg, but it was also all a bit weird. Lys has a much bouncier account of our travels on her blog here (part 1) and here (part 2).
Since getting home I have caught up with excellent episodes of Ashes to Ashes and Dr. Who but the return to work was less happy – not because of the work but because the increased dosage of the meds. is still affecting me. Ho-hum.
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