Folk night

Rackaback continues to take over my life πŸ™‚ This week, Pippa persuaded some of us to attend the FirstMondayOfTheMonth folk night at the Black Boy, an ancient pub in the old city in Hull. We had a good attendance from the side: Lynn and Lars (the latter seen above with his accordion), Debbie and her husband Eric (not a dancer, but general supporter) who kindly drove us there, Jamie, Pippa and Pete – who while not (yet) a dancer (but don’t think I’m not trying to persuade him), does most of the social stuff, and plays guitar on music nights.

It was hugeΒ fun, although I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to play the melodeon like that. Or possibly at all. Still, I vamped along where possible on my D whistle, wishing once again I had a low D. Pete complained bitterly that he didn’t have anything to bang; Pippa lent him an egg (green plastic with bits in for percussiveness), and he had a bash at Debbie’s bodhran, but he’ll need to take something next time – you need to join in to enjoy itΒ properly., It really was a cracking night, and will be part of our diary every month now, I’m sure.

On the way home, two rather inebriated ladies appeared by the car just as we were about to pull off, and one actually opened the back door. It appeared she didn’t know how to roll her own spliff (!), and required assistance. We declined, and drove off into the night.

Weekend just gone was quiet, as we were both not very well. Indeed, Pete had retired hurt during my birthday music night last Thursday, and I picked it up the lurgy the next day. We cooked a lot for the freezer, I potted up some plants and bulbs, made bread, watched Toy StoryΒ (how come we never saw it before? – lovely) and generally slumped.