Sunday, 26 June 2011
Saturday, 25 June 2011
Karaoke...who needs the hassle???
I’ve reached the age when I no longer need to stick my tongue to a 9v battery to know that it’s not a pleasant experience.
It took a while, but I got there.
On that basis, why oh why have I not yet learned to refuse doing karaoke gigs?
I know it’s going to be painful…very painful, yet after a spell of absence, I convince myself that I will handle the stress.
What stress I hear you cry?
Well, you wouldn’t know as by the time you participate, you are usually well into a drunken stupor.
Here’s the way it goes…
About 5pm, I start loading the car, taking care to leave my really good microphones at home as these will without doubt get trashed. Then I have to print out hundreds of request slips in the secure knowledge that by 10.30, most of these will be soaked through with spilled ale or used as paper balls that will be flicked between mildly drunk, yet at this point, still reasonable youths.
I arrive at the pub nice and early to set up the gear, humping speakers of a bulk that would get me to at least bronze medal stage in Olympic weightlifting, whilst confirming to those assembled around the bar, that yes…there is indeed karaoke on tonight.
Do people think I take these things to the pub for a walk as I don’t have a dog?
I then dish out the books. These are perused as one would a menu, but I just know that the clientele will order scampi and chips…I know you…you sing the same bloody song every time, in every pub from Fife to bloody Benidorm. You DON’T need the book.
Ok, so gear set up, I head to the bar. No, I don’t have water to preserve my vocal chords.
I know that I need to consume as much alcohol as possible to get me through the forthcoming trauma, much as the troops awaiting the whistle to ‘go over the top’ at the Somme.
It gets to 11pm, and I have provided you with a reasonable form of cabaret as nobody wants to sing whilst sober, and I see that at this time, your consumption of alcohol has been greater than mine, as you are now eyeing up the trench ladders with a longing.
Then the request slips start appearing. I lay them neatly in a pile….in the order I received them…although within the next hour, I will be accused of having the sleight of hand skills that would shame a Las Vegas hustler by having moved your slip to the bottom/middle of the pile, or made it magically disappear altogether, a la Derren Brown. (Oh, in some cases, this is true, sorry, but you did call me an assh*le earlier).
Then the ‘time continuum’ thing kicks in, where I’m informed that a slip that was presented to me 5 minutes ago, had actually in fact, been in my possession for at least 45 minutes.
I am sometimes, not often, surprised by someone who is exceptionally good, which is nice, and I enjoy that. I then get singers who are exceptionally bad, which I also enjoy. That’s what karaoke is all about.
Then the nightmares…the ones that suck, yet are convinced that they could,… nae should be on the X-Factor and don’t have mates that are honest enough to tell the how rank they really are.
Then comes the group singing where the lads and lasses outnumber the available microphones, and it’s always songs that the Eurovision song contest would ban as being unbearable.
Luckily, about 15 minutes to go, I get a smoke break as the inevitable request for a Meatloaf song comes up. Any Meatloaf will do as they last 14 minutes….
1 minute to midnight, it’s written in stone…
I Got you Babe, or Summer Lovin, a drunk singing Are You Lonesome Tonight or Mack the Bloody Knife gets an airing.
2 minutes past midnight. The barstaff have waved at me to shut down.
The police are likely outside listening in (wish they had been there earlier).
The government has decreed that music must stop at the stroke of 12, but is it their fault that the amplifier has been shut off?
No, the blame lies at my door. All these cheeky chaps and chapessess now have one goal in life…to reinstate the music, or kick 10 barrels of sh*t out of me for being the sole instigator of ruining, what until that time had been a thoroughly wonderful evening.
I hide at this point, usually an hour does it, until the dregs are cleared.
Upon re-entry, I start to wrap up the gear, and count the cost.
Broken…1 microphone £38.00
2 batteries used £7.00
Travel to replace mic £6.00
My bar bill £20.00
Total £71.00
Barman approaches with £60 wages, and asks if I can come back next week as everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.
I’m off home to stick my tongue on a battery…
Friday, 17 June 2011
Scarborough, Pinewood Wild West Wagons
Well, it's weekend coming up and no hillwalking for me as I'm still needing sticks to get around after my 'tent peg' accident.
On a happier note, I heard a radio interview with Kerry at Pinewood Holiday Park in Scarborough in which the Microlodge Wild West Wagons were given a glowing report.
http://southsidebroadcasting.podbean.com/2011/06/10/pinewood-holiday-park-with-tepees-cowboys-and-tents/
The guys also sent me some photos from the site. Thanks.
Dog...."I've come for my Paw" (sorry)
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Blackwater Hostel
Well, 4 days on from my tent peg back-popping incident and I'm still needing sticks to navigate around the house despite a diet of painkillers. Thanks to Dionne and David who sent some pics from their West Highland Way adventure, once again reminding me of my unplanned vertical descent of the Buachaille.
Outside the Kingshouse Hotel (Buachaille in background)
On the plus side of things, my nephew who is staying with me has at last realised we do not have a 'dish fairy' or indeed a 'laundry fairy' wot does these daily mundane tasks, and even as I write, he is up to his elbows in dishwater. See, clouds and silver linings.....
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
A thousand huts campaign
Tell me, which according to planning is most acceptable in our landscape?
OR
Of course, I'm bound to say the Hobbit huts as it's my business to build them, but the reasons I construct these units is that I use them whenever possible when I'm out and about.
They blend into the countryside with their woodland colours, unlike a large white box on wheels.
Compared to the carbon footprint of a caravan, we build with sustainable timber products, re-cycled insulation, and at the end of their life cycle, say in 20 years, we can strip them and re-use much of the material again.
There is a camapaign going on just now that you can join at http://www.thousandhuts.org
See you there.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Ice Factor in Kinlochleven
www.microlodge.co.uk
Well, where to start. Readers of this blog will by now know that things tend to be a tad unpredictable whenever I attempt to steer a steady course through life.
This weekend was no exception....
I set off nice and early for Kinlochleven with a car full of speakers, amps, guitars and all my climbing gear, all double checked and I had even written out a check list and ticked off everything as it was packed.
However, 20 miles into the journey, it was a U-turn as I'd forgotten to put my food supplies on the checklist, therefore no ticking on that item. So, back home, into the kitchen, picked up the 'unlisted/unticked' stuff and headed North. (again)
What else could possibly go wrong?
Upon arrival at the campsite, it was chucking it down with rain, but I managed to get into the Ice Factor and set up the gear for the gig. That only left me to get the tent up, (as once again, all the Hobbit houses are fully booked up), but in torrential rain, this was not really an option. Luckily, I got the keys to the site tool shed and set up home in there for the night.
The gig went well enough, but by 1 a.m. I knew the time had come to shut it down when the resident army guys thought that 'Barbie Girl' was deemed to be the best song ever written and was to be the anthem of the night, repeated ad finitum....
Then next day...disaster. Which of the following can do me most damage?
Buachaille Etive Mor (which I fell off last week, no damage) OR...
A Tent Peg....
Obviously the tent peg. I popped my back and trapped a nerve picking one of these little devils up.
No walking for me this weekend and a long painful drive back home with my tummy full of as many painkillers as possible to safely swallow.
Never mind, the time will come when I do get an incident free weekend......
On the bright side, Gary is home from the honeymoon and we should be building lots more mini-hobbits next week.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Buachaille Etive Mor
www.microlodge.co.uk
What a week it's been, and verily a heady mixture of good things, and lets say....a wee shake-up for me.
The good things:- I left home on the Tuesday and had a lovely drive around Aberfeldy before heading to Killin and then on to Lochearnhead where I picked up Digger, the black Labrador and we headed off to bag Meall a'Choire Leath, my last Munro in that area. A nice afternoon if one can class knee-deep peat bog for the first mile as being a pleasant experience. However, the best part of the walk is looking behind you on the ascent to the beautiful Tarmachan Ridge.
Then that evening, a lovely beer and meal in Killin.
Lillitroll and Digger with An Stuc in background
Next morning, I set off for Oban to visit a potential Hobbit site and enjoyed a trip down memory lane as I was there once to prepare for a gig and was well impressed with the sound system that had been set up and the amazing lighting. It transpired that all this was for the Saw Doctors and we were in the lounge bar adjoining the hall. Big mistake on our behalf.
I then headed over to my favourite place, Kinlochleven, and as normal, could not get booked into a Hobbit house so pitched my tent and went off with Gary to the Caledonian Hotel and had a lazy late lunch followed by siesta. Then over to the Bothan Bar that evening...and hey...got myself a gig for next Friday. RESULT.
Next morning, after checking the weather forecast, which promised the cloud would lift at 12, I set off to tackle a beauty I have always envied from the safety of the A82, The Bookle, or to give it's proper name, Buachaille Etive Mor.
This is how I usually see her, but it was shrouded in cloud from 1000 feet when I started out. I managed to overtake 3 walkers at the top of the coire, which is very relevant as they would play a part later in my sorry tale off woe. As i headed for the summit of Stob Dearg,visibility was down to 20 feet, and upon reaching the cairn, there was no chance of the view down to the road that I longed for. So, I turned 180 degrees and headed back along the ridge to tackle my second Munro and met my 3 walkers on their way to the summit.
The next time I was to meet up with them was the turning point of my day.
About a mile along the ridge towards Stob na Briog, I must have veered about 20 feet off course, and next thing I knew, I was carried downwards into a gully on looses scree and estimate a tumble of around 250 to 300 feet. Luckily for me, my walking poles were on my back and not on my wrists. By the time I stopped, I was totally disorientated, and had a quick 'body check'. Thank goodness, only slight cuts and grazes and nothing broken.
The trouble was, I was now not sure where I was, but luckily had just taken a compass heading just before the tumble, and as ascending the slope I had fell down was not an option, I walked along a while, then started the climb to a ridge that I was fairly sure I would pick up a path on.
Just as I was reaching the top of the ridge, blessed be, there was my 3 walkers appearing ghost-like through the mist.
What a laugh I had when they asked if I had got to the second summit before them. I told them my sorry tale, and must admit felt a bit silly in addition to have given myself a hell of a fright. That being the case, they invited me to tag along with them to do the 2nd Munro, an offer I was only too happy to accept.
Then....luxury as Maria produced a tub of fresh strawberries and raspberries at the summit, I shared my jelly babies and we had tea and sarnies. Then it was time to do the walkout, so we descended to the col, then followed the stream into the Lairig Gartain and back to the cars. Pics of these 3 wonderful people to follow when they e-mail them to me.
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