Word having got around the village that some locals had formed a band, the village hall committee seized upon the opportunity to hold a musical evening with barbecue on Saturday night. After two weeks of unbroken sunshine, it was inevitable that advertising a barbecue would catch the attention of the rain gods and that part of the proceedings was, inevitably, conducted under umbrellas.
There was a pretty good turnout at the hall, about forty folk in all, and with the lights down, it looked like a good crowd. Having been here for two and a half years, I’ve gotten over most of the social angst that normally strikes at community events.
Since the intention of the evening was to induce audience participation, a bag containing assorted and mysterious instruments of percussion was passed around the tables. I hit upon a wonderful set of wooden “spunes” – exactly like salad servers but with the spoon elements on the outer faces. Since I fancy myself as a wee bit of a spune player (see Spike Milligan for the source of the spelling), I literally hit upon these.
I’d also taken along my treble recorder (yes folks – it’s a real musical instrument) and after a while was invited to sit in and tootle along with the uilean pipes, fiddles, mandolines and guitars of the band. Much to my interest, the piper couldn’t sort a tune from the recorder.
Needless to say, a far amount of drink was taken, the willow was stripped and the gays gordoned. Herself retired early the worse for sleepiness and I was rather blurred at the edges on the morrow, but a band’s a band for a’ that.