MarkW

For no reason other than that I've just had this conversation with my eldest son, I thought I'd post a few thoughts about gigs I've been to over the last 25 years or so. GIGS I MOST ENJOYED: Eric Clapton (Royal Albert Hall, sometime in the early 1990s). "Layla!..." Jeff Bridges and the Abiders (Monterey, 2016). And yes - he did say the rug he was on really tied the room together. Creedence Clearwater (Reno, 2017). 'Fortunate Son' in a hall packed with pissed-up Americans isn't something I'll forget in a hurry! STRANGEST GIG: Steve Harley. There were only about 50 of us in the audience and he spent ages chatting afterwards. GIG I ENJOYED THAT I DIDN'T EXPECT TO: Paul Simon. I got a couple of tickets from a friend who'd bought them for his girlfriend before they split up. It was during his 'Call Me Al' phase and I wasn't expecting to enjoy it, but it was pretty good! GIGS I WISH I'D SEEN: Elvis with the TCB band (although I do know his bass player ). Queen. HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Deacon Blue. Bon Jovi. Come on - let's have yours!

Interesting stuff! I'm currently refurbishing an old clarinet for my son and have a load of dull and tarnished keywork to renovate. I had read a bit (admittedly not much) about DIY silver and nickel plating, but the consensus seemed to be that the finish was thin and wore off quite easily. I stopped my researches at that point, but after reading this I might have another look!

Generally speaking, I'm happy for people to have the freedom to say what they like, and equally for me to have the freedom to hear it without having it censored on my behalf by someone else. I may dislike - even abhor - some of what I hear, but I'd object even more strongly to having someone else decide for me what I can and can't listen to. I am offended on a daily basis - usually when I turn on the news and see the latest subhuman atrocity the parties of God are inflicting on their fellow human beings elsewhere in the world - but I also recognise that merely being offended by something doesn't constitute any sort of argument. I get the impression that most of the fun being poked at Speedy is not for calling out something he found offensive, but for the flouncing that followed.

There are plenty of opinions posted on here that I disagree with - sometimes strongly so - but the only thing I genuinely find offensive is the misspelling and illiteracy.

"If someone tells me that I've hurt their feelings, I say, 'I'm still waiting to hear what your point is.' In this country, I've been told 'That's offensive' as if those two words constitute an argument or a comment." - Christopher Hitchens

Very sorry to hear this matey. In addition to the usual drum/guitar/bass forums you could also try posting something on Rock of the North (https://m.facebook.com/groups/14055660842/). You never know... Just don't mention my name on any of those forums - I got banned from most of them after Cilla died for my injudicious use of the phrase 'mersey trout.'

Watching it now. "Porksword calling Danny Boy... Porksword calling Danny Boy..."

Polar Sexpress Winter Wonderbang Frosty the Snow Ho Here Cums Santa Ho Ho Ho! Miracle on 69th Street Naughty or Nice She's Getting it Twice

That's just crazy talk. I'd have to get scissors out and cut a centimetre off each paper, then throw the offcuts in the bin, then put the scissors back... bad vibes, man...

Well, it's been about 25 years since I last played with a professional orchestra (I was on the telly and everything ) but back then the official method was known as 'buying Rizlas from the corner shop'.

I've already told the new guys that if they annoy me I'll sell the company to their old employers.

I'm having some fun with one of our biggest competitors at the moment, who are gunning for us after most of their top people walked out and joined us. They have recently appointed an executive with a grossly inflated opinion of himself, who wasted no time embarking on some very silly posturing and willy-waving in an attempt to stamp his authority on us. He didn't realise that I always hit 'reply to all' in case there is anyone in Bcc, and consequently all the colleagues he thought he was impressing with his bravado just received this in response to his latest threat: "Speaking metaphorically, if you intend to f*ck with me then at some point you're going to have to pluck up the courage to get your trousers off. So far all you've done is stand there fiddling with your zipper." It would seem that someone in Bcc who doesn't respect him any more than I do leaked the email to the rest of the company, where it appears that I am rapidly attaining God-like status.

Just a quick question for any smokers who roll their own: My son has recently started to learn the clarinet, and having acquired a second-hand instrument for him I am about to do an overhaul on one for the first time in nearly 30 years. Back then, ungummed Rizlas were the best thing for getting moisture out from under the keypads and for using as a feeler gauge to check they were properly seated. I blithely walked into the corner shop yesterday evening expecting to pick up a packet but the guy behind the counter looked completely non-plussed, saying that they all have adhesive these days. I couldn't immediately see anything suitable online, so do ungummed papers still exist, and if so could someone point me in the right direction? Ta!

"Both hands flat on the desk, lad..."

Speaking personally, as a youngster I completely lost interest in joining the police when I realised I wouldn't be able to blow people's heads off with impunity like Dirty Harry.

I think the reason half of them are out of control is that they're already 'cained.

Yup - the immersion heater.

It was probably a Le Creuset knife too, not some bit of chavvy Argos tat. We have a much higher class of criminal in HG1...

Ha ha! No - it was from a little place called Cavenham, just outside Bury St Edmunds.

It took a long time for my relationship with the father-in-law to thaw out after our wedding: he ruined the entire day with a speech so crass and offensive that it had my wife in tears, and another guest had to be physically restrained from chinning him. If we do go out for lunch at the weekend I will spend the entire time on my guard for his frequent racial slurs in front of my kids. His next door neighbour is a single mother and - brace yourself - black. He calls her a 'choco' and her son 'chimpo'. He can't report her to the council for being black, so he reports her for everything else - over the summer it was for having dandelions in her lawn. I suggested that as a nurse and a single mother she was probably too knackered to cut the grass as often as she'd like to, and that instead of reporting her to the council it would be more neighbourly to offer to cut it for her - especially as he is retired and a keen gardener. I thought he was going to spontaneously combust: he still hasn't got over a white man caddying for Tiger Woods, which he sees as a complete inversion of the natural order. The only potential entertainment value will come from my mother-in-law, who has dementia. Obviously it's no laughing matter most of the time, but for some reason she always does something amusing whenever we go out. On the way out for lunch once she stood in our back yard, looking at our heavily-pregnant neighbours lingerie on the washing line, and yelled "Jesus Christ! How big are her tits?" at the top of her voice. Of course our neighbour was standing in her kitchen with the back door open and heard her. Then a few months ago we took them to an Indian restaurant in town, and halfway through the meal she reached into her handbag, pulled out a small garment and yelled "Whose knickers are these in my handbag?" Then she went from table to table asking all the women if they'd lost a pair of knickers.

No, you're absolutely right - it's a private members club that sets its own rules, and standards must be maintained. I will just have to accept that in the eyes of the committee, turning up in jeans would rank me far below the more acceptably attired wife-beater and child-abuser, and that I would be a complete embarrassment to the father-in-law. It's a bit like Goebbels being excommunicated by the Catholic Church: they were pretty laid back about his involvement in the Final Solution, but as soon as he married a Protestant they kicked him out. Standards must be upheld!

I just find dress codes in general pretentious and silly, and especially when they are issued by golf clubs whose members regularly despoil the place in some of the most tasteless and vulgar garments available to the public.

There's a retro shop in town with a few rails of 1970s gents tailoring. This could be the perfect opportunity to have a rummage and see what I can find.

My father-in-law has invited us for lunch at his golf club next weekend, and in typical fashion this otherwise pleasant invitation was marred slightly by his complete inability not to be an ar*ehole for five minutes at a stretch, ending as it did with the line "Please make sure you all respect the club rules and dress appropriately: no jeans." It always makes me laugh that golf clubs enforce dress codes, as golfing attire has to rank alongside the shell suit for its sheer tastelessness and naffness. And can there be any more imbecillic or inadequate way of maintaining 'standards' than on the basis of what trousers people are wearing? I know that at least one member of his golf club has a criminal record for GBH against women and on occasion also children, but as long as he turns up in some chinos, and doubtless also a wankerish Pringle sweater, they'll welcome him with fawning and obsequious servility whilst turning me and my jeans away at the door. I did think about declining his invitation on the basis that I can wear my jeans to the local Michelin-starred restaurant where the food is a bloody sight better than at his club, but I think instead I'm going to hire some plus fours and a f*cking tam-o-shanter and turn up looking like the reincarnation of Payne Stewart.