Day #293/365: Harp And A Monkey, paper wrapped round chips and an aside of late night charabangs

  • Harp and a Monkey-Folk Police Recordings-A Year In The Country
    File under: Trails and Influences. Other Pathways. Case #47/52.
    Field Trip Report: Case #3.

    Talking of departed friends and Folk Police Recordings (see Day #288/365)…

    Not so long ago I was walking past my local library and I know not why, as such things don’t often appear there, but there was a poster for Harp And A Monkey playing almost locally but the next night… leaving my local environs via public transport can sometimes seem like trying to leave the village of the damned… well I suppose more of semi-inverted village of the damned that stops you leaving rather than incapacitating those inside or trying to enter… anyway I braved myself and wandered off to see them. Lovely stuff and I also briefly managed to inquire of the reasons for the departing of Folk Police Recordings… for some reason I don’t want to go into it all here but I think its possibly fair to say that day-to-day life got in the way… oh and that leaving the village of the damned? Well, I could either arrive rather too early for the opening of the doors or… well, I arrived slightly after the band had taken to the stage… I only got lost once and then had a wander up possibly the steepest paved hill I’ve ever wandered up, while enjoying a brief discover of a part of town I’d never been to… and then a step into a room above one of those hostelries that seem stunningly local and independent, the kind of place that makes you have a think and wander about how they survive in amongst the joys and days of “fun pub” chains and cheap unfrozen meal deals… and then wandering back into the aforementioned village of the damned seemed to involve watching the tumbleweed begin to furl down the local high street, broken only by the occasional last stragglers, revellers and those hobbled by high heels as you debate just how long you wait for the last automobile carriage service before you have to pay for a taxi home… answer: quite a while it would seem and so the late night charabang wended its way home, punctuated by stopping down country roads to pick up the imbibed wanderers who had given up the ghost and decided to make their way home on foot… ah well. Well worth it to hear tails of tupperware, tinfoil and paper wrapped round chips from these chaps.

     

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