widg‧et /ˈwɪdʒɪt/ [wij-it] -noun: Pointless ramblings from the New Forest. Obviously complete & utter Rubbish. Why must I contibute to all this endless talk about me? My self-indulgent knees, spilling themselves all over the internet. Obviously i am Jon and his hair, I AM HIM!

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The Ballad Of The Steaming Fiddly-Pig

'Tis the season to be oval. Fa la la la la, la la la egg. Like an imaginary cat's egg, apparently.

I suffered through an interminably busy Eggy Sunday at work, since we were the only boozy shop open in town and the alcoholic inhabitants obviously cannot go without topping up their intoxication threshold for more than a minute and a half at a time. After a trip to London's London and two mid to heavy drinking sessions I was feeling a little fatigued, but there was no time to rest. Before even my precious egg had had time to melt in the afternoon sun, it was onward to Fareham for their (& Gosport's) very own Easter Folky Festival of Fun.

We disembarked from our Italian chariot just in time to partake of a few select slices of crunchy pig betwixt creamy, white baps; but it wasn't all healthy as we were encouraged to flood the hog sarny with dollops of unbearably fresh apple sauce. I took my pork-slimed fingers with me, in order to grease up the previously clean record stall. I picked up many musical treats, but they were all destined to slip through my moist digits; but soon my hands dried to a sticky consistency, and with a crack (crack!) my resistance failed and I was able to leave with a slightly clammier than intended CD. My hardening resistance held up to the constant onslaught of tie-dye memorabilia and, clutching my precious plastic cup of real ale, I took my place in the red brick surroundings of Ferneham Hall.

I've been here a few times, usually playing to the mainly dessicated crowd in their Sally Army bonnets, but here I was just a passive observer, only contributing a few odd noises and timely knee wiggles to the proceedings. First up was Middlesbrough duo, Megson, their slightly stilted between song banter only made their understated modern folk all the more endearing. Next up was the unknown to me, Scottish-based trio, Lau; although the mad, hairy, Bernard-Blackesque one had a distinctly English accent. Anyway, it turns out they're on the same record label as Joan As Police Woman (of Rufus Wainwright/Antony & the Johnsons/Tanya Donelly fame) and contain 2007 BBC Folk Awards Horizon winner, Kris Drever from Orkney. They gave an immensely enjoyable performance, prone to manic wig-out jams. Last on at Ferneham was Mr Steaming Fiddle himself, Seth Lakeman. A nice selection of new songs, a new drummer with a real rock drum kit (ooh) and a gooey-eyed mother next to me all made for a strangely satisfying evening.

After the steam had settled we popped across the road to the Lysses House Hotel to catch the end of Irish chanteuse, Heidi Talbot's set. I was aghast by the lack of cowbells, but the abundance of grandpapas more than made up for it. Suddenly the room was filled by a haze of water vapour, the members of the Seth-fancying persuasion tried to hold in their squeals as Mr Lakeman appeared at the back of the room, scalding those around him with his plumes of subconscious steam. Once the music stopped we all shuffled past, trying not to get caught up in his gaseous halo. When we were out of earshot my excited mum couldn't help but blurt out "Ooh, I could've touched him!" This was obviously what everybody was thinking, but I managed to keep my many, secret urges to myself.

Currently listening: Lightweights and Gentlemen by Lau


Blogger AlphIANo said...

"I was aghast by the lack of cowbells"

This sentence alone has made nearly 2 years of blogging worthwhile. For this literary gift I thankee thee

10:50 pm


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