Punky Rennie has moved house

Dear Readers,

I have been posting this blog on another site as well as this for some time now. I have now decided to blog exclusively on the other site for various reasons, so if you are a regular on this site, you will still be able to read my blogs at:

http://punkyrennie.wordpress.com

I sincerely apologise to Blogger and it wasn't an easy decision.

The Death of a Camera

On 19th July 2007 at 1.08pm exactly, my camera died. It was a Samsung Digimax 430 - 4 million Mega Pixels, with a viewfinder, lots of zoom and small-ish LCD screen. I was heartbroken.

We were on holiday in the New Forest and we had gone for a drive along the coast south of where we were staying. I had seen the Isle of Wight across the Solent (bringing back happy memories for me, mainly having my ears pierced the day before my 14th Birthday against my mother's wishes) and I wanted to take a photograph. We parked up and the two girls went to look for a beach so they could paddle (it was freezing so I have no idea why they would want to). I took the picture below:

Then I checked it and zoomed in on the Needles to see if they were visible (they're very faint and to the right of the Island in the photo). Then I turned the camera off. It started to retract its lens and then beeped 4 times at me and got stuck.

No problem, I changed the batteries (for once I had come prepared and I had some freshly recharged ones with me). I turned the camera on and it beeped at me 4 times and turned off but did not retract its lens. I repeated the procedure more in hope than expectation a couple times more and then set off after my husband, who had walked down the beach, to see if he could do anything. He couldn't, to my dismay, so I put it and its half-retracted lens back in its case and fought back the tears.

I got this camera for Christmas in 2004. I'm pretty sure the first picture I took with it was of my younger daughter, Bobbie. I took it at 8.15 on Christmas Day 2004. She's stuffing her face with toasted Milk Roll and Jam. It's a family Yuletide tradition, you see (toasted Milk Roll and Jam, not taking pictures). The camera did me good service and I've taken loads of photos with it since, some of which I've uploaded onto my blogs. Now it's broken and I don't know if it can be fixed. It is a bit like losing an old friend but, unlike old friends who are lost and now departed (Jimmy Ruffin reference there) the camera could be replaced. My family were a bit apprehensive about buying a new one but when they realised I was going to sulk for the rest of the holiday if I didn't get a new one, we went off in search of one and I got a brand new Samsung Digimax S630 - no viewfinder but a whopping 2.5cm LCD display, 6 million Mega Pixels, plenty of zoom and lots of other things that I haven't worked out yet.

So to paraphrase a not particularly common phrase:

"The Camera is dead: Long live the Camera"

and here's a photo I took with the new one. I used the macro setting (which was on the old one but never seemed to produce anything quite like this) and I took it in the Eden Project on Thursday.

Talking Machines and Mad Scientists

I have a problem. Actually, I have lots of problems but one particular one is bothering me at the moment: machines that talk to me. Now, I'm not going to include Stephen W Hawking in this category of things that bother me. He's not a machine, for a start, and he needs his talking computer (and it would be hilarious if somebody reprogrammed it to talk like Yoda - something I once heard in a Radio comedy program) and the world would be a much poorer place without him. No, what really scares me is things like lifts and pay on foot machines that talk to me.

I think this thing goes back a fair few years for me. I've had a horror of human bits being transplanted into machines for some time now. There is a science fiction novel I read years ago called Karma, where a blind man is given the opportunity to get his sight back and then has his brain transplanted into a guided missile. He can see then, but it is not quite what he was expecting. I found that particularly disturbing. Then there is the Doctor Who episode, I think it is Revelation of the Daleks where the daleks transplant a man's head into a new super-dalek. That made me jump too. I even find Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends mildly distasteful.

But talking machines are a double-edged sword. Yes, there is the remote possibility that some mad scientist has transplanted the brain and vocal chords of some poor sap into the pay on foot machines at our local car park on the promise of restoring his/her sight but these machines also make me feel decidedly schizophrenic. My brother-in-law is schizophrenic and he hears voices. Four to be precise and they are very balanced. Two say good things about him and two say bad things. The nasty ones talk more, which is a shame because he's a great bloke and I think the world of him. He knows that they don't exist but they really distract him from daily life and make conversations with him interesting, if not positively challenging.

These machines sometimes feel like voices in my head and I often want to answer back. When the car park machine says "Please insert money", I get the urge to say "Hold your horses, I haven't even got my wallet out of my bag yet! You should try getting my wallet out of my bag, it's not easy you know." When the lift says, "Doors closing," I want to shout "I know! Leave me alone!" and then cower in a corner, trying to block out this mad world. It might perhaps be a little easier for me if the lifts imitated the ones in Are you being served? and said "Going up!" in a friendly voice but then again, maybe not. I really don't know how the machines in the car park could improve their service. Probably, the only way would be to shut up.

My Life in Music, Part 2

My disillusionment with Pop/Rock lasted some time but in the late 90's I became aware of Indy music and decided it was time to try listening again. I was bought Shine 3 as a Christmas present. The tracks that stood out for me then were Marvellous by the Lightning Seeds, What do I do Now? by Sleeper and Angel Interceptor by Ash. Shortly after that I got Shine 1 and heard Green Day for the first time. It was probably the best Green Day track I could have heard for my first taste of modern punk, Welcome to Paradise. It was fresh, energetic and, most of all, punky. I loved it.

At roughly the same time, we got a Playstation 1 and bought Tony Hawk 2 for our son, Harry. This game had a great soundtrack including You by Bad Religion - again modern and punky. Every time I went into a games shop, I would hear this track. A Sega Dreamcast game would be on and the song started with a "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah..." I loved it and asked my son what the song was. I told him it was on the Crazy Taxi soundtrack and sang a bit of it. He told me it was by The Offspring, a West Coast punk band. He then borrowed the CD Ixnay on the Hombre from one of his friends for me. I made a tape of the CD and listened to it endlessly. My favourite tracks were Gone Away and Amazed.

My children were by now developing their own tastes in music. My son was tending further and further towards Metal and Prog and my older daughter was listening to Nu-Metal: Linkin Park, Slipknot, Rammstein, Limp Bizkit. I found myself liking songs like Wait and Bleed by Slipknot, Sonne by Rammstein, One Step Closer by Linkin Park and preferably as loud as my eardrums could take.

I had started going to gigs again. First off, it was Bob Dylan at the Sheffield Arena in 2000. I can remember waiting for him to come on stage but thinking that the longer it took for him to come on, the longer it would be before the gig ended and I really did not want it to end. He was fantastic even though he was nearly 60. My feet were freezing because we were sat in the Arena itself but I loved the gig. There was a good mix of people there too, from their late teens to late middle age.

In early 2003, I took my two daughters and two of their friends to see Inme. I tagged along because I was worried about the two girls, who were 14 and 12. I did not expect to like the band. I had heard a few of their songs, including Underdose, and had not been impressed. Inme were fantastic live and I had a great time. They managed to make so much noise for a 3-piece and the noise was good. I didn't even mind being the oldest person there. I felt alive again.

In 2004, went to see Yes at the MEN Arena with my husband, son and his friend. This was a similar experience to seeing Bob Dylan, although I did not know as many songs. Again, I really enjoyed myself but I realised that I far preferred the smaller venues.

I was now finally listening to Rock music again and I particularly liked The Foo Fighters. I first saw them on Kerrang! Television. It was the video for Big Me. Melody and humour in one video. I liked it. A little later, I saw The One from the Orange County soundtrack on the same TV Station. This time I was hooked. I think it was the tear falling down Dave Grohl's face at the end of the video that did it for me. I bought the single version of One By One because it had The One on it. It also had a great version of Danny Says by the Ramones. That Christmas I got All My Life by the Foo Fighters and Nirvana's Greatest Hits. I had already heard Smells Like Teen Spirit and Come As You Are but most of the rest of the tracks on the CD were completely new for me. It was like hearing a child playing really well in a school concert. These bands were the heirs to the music I had liked as a Teenager and they were worthy heirs indeed.

I continued to listen to what I considered to be modern music: At the Drive In, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and one of my favourites Alice in Chains. I also started listening to The Ramones and other bands from the past.


On 14 December 2005, I saw the Foo Fighters at the MEN Arena. I went with my older daughter, Charlie, her friend Emma and my friend and colleague, Natalie. I had rung the ticket line as soon as the tickets went on sale and had finally managed to get through 25 minutes later. All the standing tickets had gone and we were going to be right at the top of the 2nd tier of seats. I didn't mind, I was going to see my heroes live. The gig was fantastic, even though it was like watching Foo Fighter shaped ants performing miles away. A defining moment of the gig was when they went into The One and Charlie and I looked at each other and screamed. It was a miniature bonding session for the two of us. I spent over £100 in the merchandise shop too. I really do like the Foos.

In late 2005, I rediscovered Punk. We finally went online at home and suddenly a whole world was out there for me. I discovered that my old friends, The Straps, had reformed and were gigging again, mainly in London and the South East. The Buzzcocks and Stiff Little Fingers were still playing and I got tickets to see both bands. First it was The Buzzcocks at Manchester Academy. They were supported by Gear, who I thought were great. After that, it was Stiff Little Fingers at 53 Degrees in Preston, supported by Goldblade. I have written about Goldblade since but that gig was the beginning of my love affair with the band.

In August, I went to Wasted in Blackpool and saw bands I hadn't seen in years, including The UK Subs and finally, after many years, The Straps. Seeing the Straps on the Friday night was a really special moment for me, especially when Jock came out to the audience and shook hands with various members of the audience, including me. I saw bands I hadn't heard of too: Outl4w, a young 4 piece from around here, who are fabulous, Viva Las Vegas, who do punk Elvis Covers, Argy Bargy, Deadline and bands I had heard of but had not seen: 999, The Damned, The Cockney Rejects. I saw TV Smith play Gary Gilmore's Eyes on the acoustic stage (yes, they had an acoustic stage at Wasted). I met old friends, like Dave from the Straps, and new ones. It was a great time and a life-changing experience for me. I felt like my life had gone full circle.

After Wasted, I started going to gigs again. I have seen Goldblade 5 times now, which isn't bad for a space of 14 months. I have seen The Rejects again and Deadline, The Damned, Anti Nowhere League (who I missed at Wasted because they clashed with The Cockney Rejects), the Buzzcocks again and most recently, Goldblade and Anti Nowhere League in Amsterdam. I am going to Rebellion in Blackpool in August and hopefully Anti Nowhere League in Manchester in October.

This was the end of my original blog about my life in music but, as I said before, things have moved on. Last September, I went to see Kate Rusby, a folk singer, with my husband. She was very good indeed but I was in my second honeymoon period with punk and so it did not really register that strongly. In April this year, though, I joined a Border Morris Team. I have since soaked up folk music and tradition. Suddenly, my interest in Kate Rusby and old favourites like Steeleye Span has grown again. I haven't lost interest in punk at all - I keep saying I'm going to form a Punk Morris team - and I know it would work, the music would adapt so well to Morris dancing (it would have to be Border Morris, I couldn't imagine punks waving hankies around). Punk and Morris, that's me at the moment.

So that's my life in music. There is plenty I have left out, including Lindisfarne, Supertramp, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Dave Edmunds, Robert Palmer and many others. I frequently finish my blogs with a video and this one will be no exception. There is one video and one alone that I can possibly put on this blog and it is The One by The Foo Fighters. Enjoy.

My Life in Music, Part 1

A while ago, I posted a blog on one of my MySpace Profiles. It was an early effort but I was proud of it at the time. My original idea here, was to re-post it on this blog but then I thought better of it. My life has moved on in the intervening time and there is more music that is meaningful to me. I might even be able to do some cleverer stuff with this blog, for instance videos, so I decided to start from scratch, well scratch-ish.

So back to my earliest memories. I have really vague memories of a song called Arabella or Anabella but I have never been able to trace it, so it may be a figment of my childish imagination. I also seem to remember a song, which might have been sung by Frank Sinatra and had something to do with changing the world but again, I have been unable to trace it, despite feverish Google searches. If there is anybody out there who knows what I am on about, please put me out of my misery. I need to know what these songs are

The first songs I remember that I can positively identify are Blackberry Way by the Move and Daydream Believer by the Monkees. Daydream Believer was released in 1967, when I was four and Blackberry Way in 1968, when I was five. We owned 7" singles of both of them and I sang along to them from an early age. Our vinyl Blackberry Way was warped, which led to a rather strange warbling sound during the chorus. It would sound like Roy Wood was singing "Goodbye Blackberry Wa-a-a-a-a-a-ay", with the pitch wavering during the word "Way". For years I thought that that was how it was supposed to sound and even now my CD version sounds all wrong. Ah the delights of vinyl.

My father had a reel to reel tape recorder and he recorded a tape of practically all the Beatles songs. I was not particularly technophobic and the machine held no fears for me, so I would often play the tape for my own delectation and delight. I learnt most of the Beatles songs by heart and learnt to sing in harmony from singing along. I tended to prefer the earlier songs when I was younger and would favour that part of the tape. Now, this is embarrassing for me but I'm feeling a bit confessional at the moment. I used to have two dolls, cheap versions of Sindy or Barbie. I cut the hair on one and turned her into a boy (an early gender reassignment experiment for me). I used to enact I Saw Her Standing There with the two dolls (now, that wasn't so painful after all, was it? Well, actually, it was). Here are the lyrics. You will have to just imagine a young (7 or 8 year old) Punky Rennie with the two dolls. Just to help, he had short brown hair and she had blond hair and her head would come off very easily indeed.

Well, she was just 17,
You know what I mean,
And the way she looked was way beyond compare.
So how could I dance with another (ooh)
And I saw her standin' there.

Well she looked at me, and I, I could see
That before too long I'd fall in love with her.
She wouldn't dance with another (whooh)
And I saw her standin' there.

Chorus:Well, my heart went "boom"
When I crossed that room,
And I held her hand in mine...

Whoah, we danced through the night,
And we held each other tight,
And before too long I fell in love with her.
Now I'll never dance with another (whooh)
Since I saw her standing there

Guitar Solo

Chorus

Repeat last verse

Move on a few years and we come to Glam Rock. I would be between 7 and 12 or 13 when it was in its heyday. I did like Gary Glitter (few people will admit to that nowadays) and I loved Wizzard, The Sweet, Slade, Mud and Suzi Quatro. At the time, I did not like The Rubettes but I think I was too young to spot their tongues in their cheeks. I think the appeal of glam rock was that you could dance to it (even somebody as clumsy as me) and they were, or at least appeared to be, young and cool. My Mum was a very sensible woman, who bought me sensible shoes from Clarks, with heels no higher than ½ inch. I used to admire the likes of Brian Connolly, Gary Glitter and Dave Hill in their huge platforms and weird and wonderful clothes. Also men wearing make-up - that was brilliant.

When I was 10, I got to go to a Quaker Summer School in Sibford. I was the youngest one there. Most of the kids were 12 and above (I think 12 to 14 but I'm not sure now). One lad of 14 came over to talk to me on one of my first days there. He told me his name was Simon Tilley but I could call him Timon Silly, which amused me greatly. He asked me what sort of music I was into. At that point I could have said The Bay City Rollers but my two older sisters had spent about a week brainwashing me a couple of weeks earlier and I wanted to impress, so I said ELP. He was highly impressed. A 10 year old who likes Prog Rock - amazing. I actually knew very little ELP at all at the time and I don't know much now, either. The band did not interest me at all. The bands I do like, though, due to early sororal influence are Jethro Tull (specifically Aqualung), Procol Harum (specifically Exotic Birds and Fruit) and early Genesis.

The two songs that really remind me of that Summer School are Lay Down by the Strawbs and Life on Mars by David Bowie. I met a 12 year old boy at the Summer School and I got on very well with him. He wasn't bad looking too and we spent most of the week hanging around together, holding hands, me trying to persuade him to kiss me and him telling me we were too young. In the evening, there would be a disco and we would go and waltz around the dance floor madly to whatever song was playing at the time. The two songs above got played loads of times and they stuck with me for life. Bursting at the Seams by the Strawbs was the first proper album I ever bought and I got it not long after I had returned home from Sibford. A few years ago, I bought it on CD and I still listen to it from time to time and feel very proud of my 10 year old self for having such good taste in music. I never had a recording of Life on Mars for years but every now and again, I would hear it on radio or in a shop. It would take me back years. I eventually got a CD of David Bowie's greatest hits and then I felt it necessary to ration myself. I didn't want the song to lose its power and it hasn't done.

After Prog and Glam Rock and the Strawbs, it seems a very short jump indeed to my enduring musical love - Punk. My parents sent me to boarding school when I was 11. An unlikely place to find a punk. I remember the seminal moment for me when I realised it was my destiny to be a punk. Mum and Dad were taking me back to school after a half term break. I had found an old nappy pin while I was at home and for some reason, I had pinned it onto a woolly hat of my Mum's. I was wearing the hat and pin in the car when we were driving back to school and a car overtook us. In the car were 3 or 4 punks. They looked very sharp and spiky and they noticed me and suddenly the back window of the car they were in was full of grinning faces and pointing fingers - they had seen me and were evidently amused. It was my Road to Damascus moment and I decided then and there that I would be a punk.

My first Punk record was My Way by Sid Vicious. I was a bit of a late starter with Punk and missed the early years. I can't say in what order I bought my other records but I slowly built up a small but interesting collection of 7" singles, including Hybrid Kids EP, Where's Captain Kirk by Spizz Energy, I'm in Love with Margaret Thatcher by the Not Sensibles, Simon Templar by Splodgenessabounds, Girl on the Run by Honey Bane and various others.

I started going to gigs when I was 16. My first gig was John Cooper Clarke at the Marquee in Wardour Street. I later saw the UK Subs at the Music Machine supported by my great friends, The Straps, and an early precursor of New Romanticism, Martian Dance, who I hated. I saw Stiff Little Fingers, The Boys, Splodgenessabounds 3 times and The Straps another 2 times.

I used to go down the Kings Road most Saturdays and meet up with other punks there. I also used to stalk Jock, the lead singer of The Straps, an enterprise which was made easy for me because he worked at Boy - a punk boutique on the Kings Road. I got stopped by the police with a group of punks I was with one day. The boys were frisked by a couple of policemen and the girls were asked to turn out their pockets by a policewoman. I asked if I could go over and be frisked with the boys but she said no. A girl I was with had two wristwatches on. The policewoman seemed to think she had stolen one. She could not understand why she would wear two. One was broken anyway. It made perfect sense to me. If you were a punk, you wore weird combinations. I frequently wore:

Pink Leopardskin Trousers
A short Royal Stewart tartan kilt,
T-shirt
Woolly Stripy Jumper if it was cold
Leather biker jacket with Siouxsie Sioux' face tippexed on the back, UK Subs tippexed on the sleeves and loads of badges, including, I'm proud to say, a Morris team badge.
Hankie tied round my neck, western style
Black Beret

My hair would be either black, bleached or something in between. One day and for one day only, it was green.

For some reason, I became disillusioned with punk. I briefly flirted with the idea of being a skinhead and then I'm not sure what. I started going out with a Teddy Boy, though, and got my first taste of Rock'n'Roll.

I'd heard songs by Elvis Presley and could recognise Buddy Holly, The Everly Brothers and Bill Haley and his Comets. Pete introduced me to stuff I hadn't heard before, like Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, The Cascades, Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, Connie Booth and loads of others. We used to go to The Hampton Court Palace in The Elephant and Castle. Upstairs they would play music and people would dance - jive, bop, stroll. Downstairs, there was a pool table and the main part of the pub. Pete would take me upstairs and I'd join in the dancing as best I could. Downstairs, we'd play pool and inevitably, I would lose and get mad. One time, after I had lost a match, I threw my pool cue away from me in disgust. It hit a Hells Angel. He was a gentleman and handed it back to me and suggested that I hide it because I had broken it. It wasn't mine, you see, but the pub's.

Afterwards, I went to University and split with Pete. I now come to the most shameful part of my life, musically. I got into music that was, frankly, trendy. It was 1980's, self-concious, pretentious shite. Everybody wore cropped jeans, plimsolls and long baggy coats, including me. I must have looked an absolute prat. The music was mainly electronic. We used to go to a night club in Birmingham called the Powerhouse. You didn't have to wear smart clothes there and they played trendy music and also other post punk and some pre-punk music there. I danced to The Passenger by Iggy Pop there and Mexican Radio by Wall of Voodoo. Those were the better tunes. The shameful stuff is Matt Fretton, Blancmange, Wham (yes, Wham!!!) I shudder to even think of it. The trendies used to do a dance, where they would shuffle their feet slowly, all the time looking at the floor. I called it the dog-shit shuffle because they looked like they were checking their shoes. At the end of the night, they would play New York, New York by Frank Sinatra. I would always dance with my then boyfriend's good mate, Dave. The boyfriend is now, incidentally, my husband.

Sometime during the 80s I stopped liking Pop Music. The last record I remember liking was Rush Hour by Jane Wiedlin. Anything after that does not register. I started listening to Classical Music more and to Opera for the first time. For a while, I was a big fan. I preferred lighter stuff, like Bizet and Puccini. My first tastes of Opera were from the French film, Diva (featuring the skinhead who does not like anything "J'aime pas les ascenseurs" etc) which featured Ebben Ne Andro Lontana and from a Spitting Image version of the Pearl Fishers Duet.

I think I should stop here now. I had a look for a video of the Pearl Fishers Duet on YouTube but I found this offering by Jussi Bjorling instead. It is not a video, just a still photograph but his voice is so good that I decided to go with the photograph accompanied by some of the most beautiful music I know instead. Close your eyes and enjoy.

Middlewich Folk and Boat Festival, Sunday

On Sunday, I got up feeling remarkably fresh considering I had not slept particularly well. I went to the shower block and had a shower, using only Simple Face Wash. I had come particularly badly prepared. The showers are communal and it was a bit like being back at school. I'm not particularly embarrassed about my body but I think I would have preferred cubicles.

After my shower I went back to my tent and a fellow Crow, Jean offered me a coffee, which I gratefully accepted. Jean and various other Crows also offered me breakfast which again I gratefully accepted, being just a little bit hungry after my exertions the previous day. I had bought some batteries for my camera on Saturday so I put them in and fastened the case to my belt. I had been really impressed with the other teams the day before and I was determined to get some pictures this time.

Our first date was the Civic Centre, where we were to participate in a Morris Display. I snapped freely during the other teams' displays and here is a small selection of photographs for your edification:

From the top there is: Redbournestoke Morris Men, hankies aloft (left), the Ironmen (right), Mr Hemmings Traditional Abingdon Morris (left), The Earl of Stamford's youngest Morris dancers (right) and the awesome Stone Monkey (centre).

I danced a White Ladies and got it wrong (ouch!). My excuse was I was number 3 on the right and I usually dance number 2 on the left. The other Morris Teams were fantastic but I would like to make a special mention of Stone Monkey. They left me absolutely breathless with their Rapper. Each team danced 2 dances. Mr Hemmings danced one dance where a young lady stands in the middle. They chose somebody from The Earl of Stamford's Morris. The poor girl appeared to be traumatised afterwards.

Stone the Crows' second dance was Skirmish. I absolutely love Skirmish and I am dying to learn it. It's a brilliant showcase for the team and when it's danced well (and I've only ever seen it danced well) it's a show stopper.

After that, we had another dance on the Festival Ground and I danced Ragged Crow yet again. I was beginning to feel really proud of myself. Sharing the festival ground with us was the Earl of Stamford Morris Team, who dance Cotswold. At the end of the display, we had another massed Tinners. I really enjoyed myself yet again. I was beginning to feel I could get used to this.

Things were drawing to a close and I went off to remove my "make-up" in the car. Then I went to find two friends and fellow team members, John and Gill. I knew they would be in the Boars Head, not because the beer is good (although it is) but because there would be a massive jamming session going on and I don't think much would keep G & J from such a musicians' paradise.

The bar was packed and I missed them at first. I went and got myself a drink and then came back to the front bar, where most of the playing/singing was going on. There in the thick of it were Gill with her melodeon and John with his whistle. I dragged up a chair (with some difficulty, the bar was so crowded) and sat down behind them. Then I sat back and enjoyed the music.

The standard of playing and singing is amazing. I expressed a wish that I played a portable instrument fairly early on in the proceedings. I play the piano but there is no way I would have fitted it in the crowded bar, even if I could have brought one. I can sing a bit - usually in the car, very loudly and along to various punk songs - but I was a bit embarrassed. Some of the women who sang were breath-takingly good.

There were fiddle players, melodeon players, concertina players, an accordion player, various guitarists, whistle players, banjo players and bodhran players, one of whom also played the washboard. One or two would start a tune and one by one others would join in. I was mesmerised. One of the gents present started to sing "The Leaving of Liverpool" and I joined in the chorus with enthusiasm, confident that nobody would be able to hear me.

We had our tea in the pub and then left for the final concert of the weekend. The main act was Show of Hands with special guest Miranda Sykes and they were well worth the drive home late at night afterwards. I hadn't heard the band before and I had been nodding off during the support acts (sorry!) but I became wide awake when they started their set. I can't name most of the songs they performed but I do know they played "Roots", a passionate song defending the English folkmusic tradition. I also know that they were very good indeed and I thoroughly enjoyed the concert.

At the end, while we were leaving, we were treated to the spectacle of a streaker climbing one of the central poles of the marquee (I believe there was another but I never spotted him). It was an amusing end to a good evening. I went back to my car, said goodbye to Gill and John and set off home. The journey was uneventful and I didn't fall asleep at the wheel, which, in retrospect, is a little surprising considering how tired I must have been.

I sometimes finish off a blog with a video but this time, I'm going to finish with two. One is of Stone Monkey doing a rapper dance and the other is of Show of Hands. You can watch one or the other or both if you prefer.

Middlewich Folk and Boat Festival, Saturday

I went to the Middlewich Folk and Boat Festival on Saturday 16 June 2007. Some of the team had gone down on the Friday and bagsied a decent pitch. I went down early on Saturday morning and got there quite early because, to be frank, I had been pretty excited and was too hyper to sleep or wait around. I arrived at about 8.45 after a brief detour via Tesco to get some toothpaste because we didn't have any spare at home. I rang my contact, Carol and her husband John answered the phone and said he'd come and find me. I didn't want to drive my car across the field because it looked so muddy at the entrance and my car is only small and it doesn't even have any wellington boots. I was terrified it would get stuck.

I'm going to have to keep this brief so:

1) I drove up to the tents and the car did not get stuck.
2) John and Ann of Stone the Crows put up my borrowed tent with a little help from me.
3) I got changed and blacked up ready for the procession and got my photo taken with Lizzie. Here it is:

The batteries in my camera then gave up the ghost so I didn't get to take any more photos until Sunday. We walked down to Somerfield for the procession and we discovered that we were to bring up the rear. It was a bit stop and start but I loved dancing in it. You get the chance to rush at the crowd and scare children. Well, that's what Border Morris is all about isn't it? During a couple of the stops, we danced a short Tinners Rabbit, which allowed the teams in front to move on a bit and give us room to go back to our procession dance. At the end, we danced through an honour guard of other teams, which was a wonderful experience and made me feel like John Terry when Chelsea won the Premiership in 2006.

After that, we went to the bullring for our first dance. It was one of my favourites, Ragged Crow. What am I on about? I don't have a favourite dance - I love them all equally. I do like Ragged Crow though, because it looks so good. I sat on the sidelines and watched because I didn't know it... yet! Other teams were dancing on the bullring too so we got plenty of rest between dances. Now, I'm not absolutely sure but I think we danced White Ladies next and I know I danced. At the end of the "show", Murray persuaded some other teams to join in a massed Tinners Rabbit. With all the dancers and all the musicians together, it was a wonderful sight and sound and somebody has put a video on YouTube which features it. Not sure about the music though but here it is:



Then I went off with a couple of young Crows, Rachel and Lizzie and a Crow's daughter (sorry, I don't remember your name!) to look round the festival and get some food. I was told off by a man who had a birds of prey stall because of my hat. Evidently, the birds would have got excited by the sight of the feathers in it. I took it off shamefacedly. I bought some souvenirs for friends and family from some of the stalls - a couple of friendship bracelets for my daughters and a fridge magnet for Sammy the Shark.

We then got some dinner - I got a sausage barm which tasted fine, amazingly - and then we went onto the next pitch, the Boars Head pub. Unfortunately, it had just started to rain, so we did what any sensible Morris side would do and went in. There are a number of rooms in the Boars head and all contained dancers and musicians. We went in a room containing a pool table and I witnessed possibly the longest game of pool I have ever seen.

Now, I don't like to cast aspersions on my fellow Morris dancers and I do not pretend to be a good pool player but I can hit the white. This was the most amazing display of pool playing I have ever seen! It was "two shots!" all round as the white failed to connect with a colour or the white went in the pocket. The only thing not done was to pot the black before time. I took two goes (it was a team effort in every sense of both words) and the first time, I actually managed to pot two balls and of the right colour. I did say I'm not a good pool player. The last shot was down the table and I missed the pocket (but not the ball). I blamed it on not wearing my glasses. This was a deception because I am long sighted.

Anyway, one team won, the rained cleared up and we went out to dance. It was Ragged Crow again and this time I learned the dance. Ragged Crow is danced in sets of four. Usually 2 sets but 3 other Crows made up a third set with me and took me through the dance. We did another dance (I really should have taken notes because I've forgotten everything) and then another Tinners.

After that, more mooching around until we were to dance at the Festival Ground. At the Festival Ground, I danced Ragged Crow properly for the first time. It was great!

The rest of Saturday is a bit of a blur really. I had a couple of beers from the beer tent and I bought a leather Morris Dancer badge from the clog maker. I also went to look at didgeridoos with Brent and Fiona and I had a look at some other weird and wonderful musical instruments. Later I went to look at rings with Lizzie and I got myself a ring for my little finger (so I now wear 8).

We went back to the campsite at the end of the day and Brent and the lovely Fiona went to get a curry (I still owe them a fiver for mine). I was getting colder and colder and I was beginning to feel sick and I was really tired (I had done loads of dances during the day - I'm really not used to the exercise). Somebody noticed that something was wrong - especially when I didn't eat my curry - and took action. I was put in John and Gill's motorhome and wrapped up in blankets and a quilt. John put on the heater and people kept looking in and asking if I was okay. I think my embarrassment slightly outweighed the cold and tiredness.

Eventually, most of the Crows went off to the evening shows and ceilidhs and Ann brought me a hot chocolate. I was really tired and once I felt properly warm again, I ventured out to the campsite toilets, returned Ann's cup to her and went to bed. I did not get cold again but I didn't sleep too well either but what the heck! This was the first time I'd camped in 24 years so what did I expect?

To be continued...