Mad March Mini-Break Day 06

 

 

Mad March Mini-Break Day 05

 

Mad March Mini-Break Day 04

 

 

Mad March Mini-Break Day 03

 

Sunday Night....

 

Temple Blocks...

I am prone to compulsion. I become single-minded in pursuit of my goal.

I've developed an unhealthy interest in the history of the drum kit. How did it get to look like that? What led to that configuration?

More or less like this:

Generic Drum Kit

It starts with the demise of the marching band where Bass Drum, Cymbal, and Snare Drum would each have been played by individual performers. Not having to march means the three elements could be combined and played by one person. Probably the same person who plays the drums in most young people's cars.

Into the early part of the 20th century the sit-down kit starts to appear in the form of the 'Contraption' or 'Trap' kit which augments the basic three elements with anything that would make a noise.

Many of the anythings seem to have been Asian in origin. The toms appear to be traditional 19th century Xiao Tanggu or ceremonial hall drums annnnnnd, temple blocks.

I bought a cheap (poor quality) temple block from eBay to add to my collection of things that make good noises. It wasn't enough...

Just for the cheap-thrill of bidding to lose I bid on a set of four 'antique' temple blocks. I was convinced some drummer would spot them and snap them up so I only bid £20 knowing it was a ridiculously low amount for items of such rarity..

So, I won four 'antique' temple blocks.

Here's what the seller had to say about them:

Four genuine Chinese Temple Blocks with 3 beaters, complete with original Chinese cardboard box. I bought these items from an antique shop in Zhouzhuang, an ancient residential area of China which has a profound cultural background, during a tour of mainland China in July 1999.

The blocks are carved from wood and each have a distinctive emblem carved on the top and bottom surfaces that looks like two fishes.

The sizes of the blocks are 120mmWide/ 300mm deep, 100mmW/95mm D, 80mm W/ 80mm D and 50mm W/55mm D.

The four temple blocks each have a quite unique sound, ( a recording of the sounds they make can be emailed to you on request ) and they are a dream find for any discerning percussionist. As well as being a fine addition to a percussionists kit, these items could equally be acceptable as a bric-a-brac fine collectors item.

One of them has a sticker on it that reads '¥12'... hmmmm.

Of course, for them to be used to their full effect, they needed a dedicated stand to mount them in.

They now look like this:

These have been the source of much hilarity for both Linda and myself.

Here's what they sound like...

A full set of five 'pro' temple blocks costs £150....

 

A 'Very Worthing' Protest.... (Updated)

I received a message from Bamboo Band HQ. We are requested to perform at a consciousness raising event in support of Greenpeace's Anti-Fracking campaign.

I have a vague idea that Fracking maybe a bad thing, especially if one lives in the beucolic biss afforded in the folds of the South Downs.... It would wreak havoc with the golf and may frighten the horses.

I'm against Fracking because it just seems like another dead end in terms of powering the future.

I like windmills. I like great big white windmills. If there's one thing I like more than great big white windmills it's hundreds of great big white windmills standing in the sea with ships weaving in and out of them.

Linda's a Greenpeace supporter and will stop to talk to any of the dreadlocked-crusty-trustifarians that occasionally leave their Hobbit holes in Brighton and come to do Eco-missionary work on the streets of Bognor Regis.

I'm generally sympathetic to their cause, but, having joined more than my fair share of crazy cults, I can spot one when I see one.

We arrive in a car park some short way from the rendezvous point outside Worthing Railway Station. I am in rapture. Teville Gate....

And was dystopia builded here...? As Jonathan Meades said in his series on Brutalism, "the sheer joylessness is thrilling'. It certainly is. I think it maybe because I grew up in the countryside, and thereby developed an unromantic view of the place, that I find this kind of completely urban environment endlessly fascinating. I'd have done the gig right here.

The multi-story car park is another wonder, but the sun was behind it, so I didn't take a picture.

We are early. I didn't known what to expect, but was somewhat relived not to find baying hordes of balaclava-clad Eco-warriors manning the barricades against the forces of repression bent on carving up the planet for the shareholders.

I took a picture of Linda:

I didn't notice the horns.

We went for a coffee in the cafe over the road from the station. It was as 'tradition' a British cafe as one could hope to visit... In fact it was over the top British, right down to the proprietors handlebar moustache.

I drink what I used to call a 'milky coffee', but now know I should refer to it as a 'latte' if I don't want to be taken for an unsophisticated dullard.

I read the Sun 'newspaper'. It's filled with bile about the odious PR Guru Max Clifford's fall from grace. Watch out when your hand becomes the only food left to feed the monster with.

Lord James Bamboo turns up and we decamp to the event.

We look around, can't see much going on, then I notice a small group of middle aged people in kagools shuffling leaflets. Guess who?

The activists activate by doning Greenpeace tabards and hold up a large sign reading "Stop Fracking!". The Bamboo Band twang into action:

We play for two hours solid becoming most animated when ever a train unloads it's passengers.

Then the forces of repression make their move. The station manger tells the organisers that 'the music can't be playing on Southern Rail property'. Southern Rail property seemingly defined by the perimeter of the station entrance canopy. We step outside the perimeter and start playing 'Can't Beat The Bamboo Band'.

I am upbraided by a callow youth of a protester who suggests that it was politically incorrect of me to describe the station master as the 'Fat Controller'. I explain that I am an unsophisticated dullard and know no better.

There's a more convincing protestor type with us now. He is wearing a pink hat and, I'm told, was at one of the really big protests where some nice middle class people got in a bit of a tizzy about the possible intention of a company to maybe consider Fracking in their back gardens.

I don't mean to be cynical. These are committed people that want to stop our planet being exploited for, relitively, short term gains.

Here's the thing though... I worked on an oil rig. My employers were contracted to clean it. It was a German rig, highly efficient, required high standards from the contractors.

I cleaned it to with in an inch of it's life 3 times a week. One of the crew was a Texan. He looked like he was wearing a Stetson, even when he wasn't. 'God damn!', he said at me, 'this is a oil rig sir, an' you makin' it look like a high class whore house'. And yes, he really was that stereotypical.

Why is this relevant?

It's relevant because that drilling rig was in woodlands in the Sussex Downs. Right in the middle of one of those bucolic folds. They were drilling about a mile going down and then about a mile going along.

The site puts out just over 100* barrels a day. If they got the hole right that should increase to 300+*.

(* I may have got these figures wrong, but I think the differential is about right.)

No one, but no one even raised an eyebrow.

Update:

From the Worthing Herald: Worthing Against Fracking

 

Up On The Roof.

Linda and I live in a first floor flat.

Not only does Linda own the flat, she owns the free-hold on the whole building.

The ground floor flat is owned by 2 brothers who house their elderly mum there.

The free-hold lease on the ground-floor flat only has around 50-ish years left to run which would adversely affect the value of the property should they come to sell it.

To extend the lease requires them to fork out around £15k to Linda.

We had some work done on the roof last year and the workman found it's displaying the symptoms of 'nail-sickness' which, to remedy, would require the roof slates to be removed and replaced at a cost of around £15k, give or take.

A deal was done, extended lease for a new roof.

With hindsight it may have been better to delay starting the work till later this year, but it was decided to get the job done before Xmas and the exciting scaffold was erected at the end of November.

Things progressed well, the crumbling slates were removed, a Velux window (my request) was fitted...

...then the weather changed.

And how.

During the wild winds and rains that have battered us over the last 5 weeks I've been able to establish we could, if we so chose, drive the whole house along a motorway at around 70 mph with no fear of anything dropping off.

A few leaks have appeared, non of them serious, but we will have to fill several cracks in our recently replastered ceiling and repaint the front room/kitchen.

To be honest I feel we've got off quite lightly in comparison to some poor buggers on our muddy little island.

I feel sorry for the roofers who've been waiting for a break in the deluge.

Today some  progress has been made and the roof now looks like this:

The eagle-eyed will notice the hardy roofer nailing a few more tiles on.

What a star he is!

Rain doesn't bother him, but when the wind picks up he has to down tools and take shelter.

Have I been able to resist the temptation to climb up onto the scaffolding?

Well, yes and no.

I started up the wobbly ladder and managed to get 3/4's of the way up before my equally wobbly limbs gave up.

My nerve didn't go, I'm just not physically capable of getting any further up at the moment.

(A health report will appear to explain the current state of my condition later.)

With luck and fair weather the job should be finished in the next couple of weeks.

In the meantime I'm enjoying saying 'I told you so' to Linda at every possible opportunity.

Felpham Gothic 2013

Is This Irony Then?

Linda is allergic to penicillin.

If she were to be given penicillin the consequences could be quite unpleasant for her.

In order that the possibility of inadvertently been given penicillin might be avoided, Linda ordered a chunky bracelet that warns against administering the ubiquitous antibiotic.

Guess what?

Linda's allergic to the bracelet.

(snap taken just as the right-cross, thrown to stop my laughing, failed to connect with my chin and glanced off the iPad.)

On The First Day In Nidderdale

I have illustrated the journey from Felpham to Harrogate with Independent Film Maker, Ned Ouwell's photo journal.
The pictures were snapped at 10 mile intervals on the 290 mile trip:

During the drive, for the first time in my life, I drank 'energy' drinks.

I had great difficulty sticking to the speed limit.

Compounded with the anticipation of HOLIDAY!!!!

We made it in about 6 hours.

Park/Hotel/Unpack/Get Out.

We strolled up town, me all the while babbling about how I used to do this, and how I used to do that, I used to go here, I used to go there, that's all changed, that's exactly the same, I remember when me and X did this and tha....

I took Linda into The Blues Bar for a coffee.
(as if I needed anymore caffeine)
I ran slap bang into a musical hero of mine.
We had a chat.
He invited me and my ukulele to join in his gig that evening.

That's enough for me.

We wandered up and down the Valley Gardens where we finally arrived on HOLIDAY!!!

It's now time to eat.

As it's just down hill from the Valleys, we end up in Hales Bar.

(enjoy Mr. Banished)

We ate 3 starters between us:

A reminder of what a 'proper' Gentleman's Urinal should look like:

I pondered on the offer of sitting in at the Blues Bar,
with an acoustic uke,
till the early hours of the morning,
drinking probably,

I decided the invite was enough and I took my best gal back to the hotel.

Then:

From Felpham to Harrogate: Ned Ouwell's Photo Journal.

Fasten your safety belt....

Busy, Busy.

Some months ago I managed to agree to play two gigs on the same day, that day was yesterday.
They were approximately 25 miles apart.
This was not a problem for a man with a plan.

The first performance was with The Flying Aspidistras! (I typed that in bold green on purpose just to see what it looked like.) at the Uke at the Duke Ukulele Festival with Ukuleles.
We are to take the stage at 15:30, we will be playing around about a 10 min set of 3 songs:

• Puttin'n On The Ritz
• Rum and Coca Cola
• There 'ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens.

The second performance with the Bamboo Band, in aid of the RAFA Club, at the Waverley Public House in Bognor Regis.
We are to take the stage at 17:30, we will be playing for around 45 mins.
I'll have no idea what we'll be playing until I'm stood, uke in hand, in front of the audience, waiting for Lord Jim to tell me what to play.

By simple subtraction we can see that the 1hr. 45 min. gap between the two appearances leaves plenty of time to cover the 25 miles from Shoreham to Bognor Regis.

The situation changed on Friday when a half hour got shaved off the Waverley gig start time moving it to 17:00.
Knowing how flexible festival timetables can become I started to worry a bit.
Sunday traffic levels always seem heavier than the normal week day load, I suppose it's made up of people like me going to ukulele festivals and such like.
I know it takes about an hour-ish to get from Shoreham to Bognor.

By Sunday morning I'd become overwhelmed by possible imaginary timetables and pre-gig nerves.
At 13:35 me and my best gal, Lindy Lou, were on our way to Shoreham.

It takes 54 minutes if you choose to take the A27 route BTW.

The clock is ticking and it ticks to 15:35:

Ladies and Gentlemen!

(filmed by Independent Film Maker, Ned Ouwell.)

It is now 16:00 and we're in the car, taking a different route, to Bognor Regis.

It takes 45 mins (including costume change) and:

...they all lived happily ever after.

P.S. I've only just realised what Lord Jim is singing about.

A Birthday Treat.

Linda became a qualified chain-saw person not so long ago.
I thought it might be nice to buy her a chain-saw for her birthday.
(that would have made a good blog post)

I am not a fool.

I asked Linda if she would actually appreciate the gift of a chain-saw in recognition of reaching the beginning of a new year.

Linda didn't want a chain-saw for her birthday.
Linda want'ed a day out in Brighton for her birthday.

Linda had an itinerary:
Rise early.
Drive to Brighton ETA 09:00 ish.
Park in Churchill Square Car Park (6hrs. = £10.00)
Go to Primark.
Return to car, deposit shopping.
Go to North Lanes.
Go to Brighton Sea Life Centre.

We can visit a shop with ukuleles in it as well if I'd like.

The Condition has not abated.
My 'get-up-and-go' is still 'got-up-and-went'.

So, just what am I capable of doing?
One way to find out.

We made the car park in Brighton by 09:35.
We went for coffee.
We sat on the window stools.
I noticed something and took a picture of it:

Linda went to PRIMARK:

I am sent upstairs to the Menswear Dept.

We will meet again in 20 mins.

I have a question.

Why is the Lingerie Dept next to the Menswear Dept.

They are only two departments on this floor.

I noticed I was the only male shopper in the Menswear Dept.

I looked around at the clothes and decided I wouldn't shop here, though I suspect Linda might be tempted to buy things here for me.

Then I remembered I needed socks.

I went to the sock bit.

5 pairs of black socks (they're for work) size 9-12.

My feet are size 13.

I go to stand in the queue to pay.

The woman ahead of me notices the socks.

"Where are those?"

I point in the general direction.

"I couldn't find the socks".

She moves to head for the sock bit.

"Here, take these" I said, "I'll go get another pack".

This didn't seem strange to me.

But the woman seemed to be in shock.

"Are you sure?"

I gave her the socks and started stumbling toward the sock bit again.

Then I remembered the size issue.

"Are those the right size?" I asked.

She looked.

No they weren't.

She needed the next size down.

I went to the sock bit.

The next size down rack was empty.

I went back to report.

The queue was exactly the same as it was when I left it.

Linda reappeared.

She'd had shopping failure and couldn't find anything she wanted to buy.

We strode on to the North Lanes.

Linda's shopping failure continued.

We went to eat:

I don't like cola BTW, but it came with the meal.

This is the best burger place ever:

We continued to visit galleries of shiny, expensive, useless gimcrack and the shopping failure persisted.

Health Report:

Throughout all this, although I found it difficult to move and wobbled when I did, I never felt in any kind of 'difficulty'.

We ran out of time and couldn't visit the Sea Life Centre.

We'd had the best day ever!

Paper 53

Both Linda & I downloaded the Paper 53 drawing app.
Guess which picture is my first effort and which is Linda's.

KCL at Uke at the Duke.

In our zippy auto-ma-car to Shoreham and a special Uke at the Duke with added KCL (I think that means King's College London).

The young student types were on some kind of mission that involved visiting lots of different uke jams.
I didn't really get the gist of it.

Uke at the Duke jamsters have perfected that rolling intro-ukulele-chug that its really easy to sit in.
Some one had a tambourine which really helped keep the overall timing across a large space some where close to nearly right.
Linda had a shaky egg.

I had kazoo disfunction.

One of the best times.

Afterwards we went to look at Shoreham Airport:

The New Fish Tank.

The fish have needed a new home for much, much to long.
Their habitat infested with green goo that the filter couldn't cope with.

Linda saw a new and exciting fish life-stlye product called the Ultra-Bowl.
(I can't remember if it's the 450 or the 500).

There is scope for a good deal of trauma transferring the fish from their fetid green soup environment to their new space-age habitat.
Not least for the fish.

Linda began to fret a little about the procedure.
I, as ever, have a plan.

I get out of bed before Linda, fill the washing up bowl to about half-way with water from the green fetid soup tank, attempt to scoop a one of the fish into the tiny little net that came with the Ultra-Bowl.
This proves to be quite difficult.
Fish are tricky an' no mistake.

Some time passed...

Having caught Big Fish I lift him from the tank and pop the en-netted fish into the washing up bowl, stride, with purpose, toward the new bowl, and introduce the fish.

I did this three times and was about to transfer tiny fish when Linda got out of bed to find out what I was up to.
She insisted on moving tiny fish.

Some time passed...

All's well that ends well:

The water is clearing up nicely and the fish seem right at home.

There was one other thing:

On A Plate 2013: 045 (Warning! Valentine's Day Goo Alert.)

Felpham.

Linda has a very strict morning face routine so I stuck the plate where I knew she'd see it.
On her mirror:

Job done, smiles all round:

Yes, of course I got a card.

Not sure who from though.

OSM Audio/Visual Retrospectic: 25 ) Que Linda!

There Are Limits y'Know.

I'm not a selfish person.
I know how to share my things with other people.
But...

This is a bridge to far:

That's MY Ivy Arch Cushion ! !

You watch, she'll be wanting to wear my cape next.