In between catching up with some posts here, I've been listening to my son's band's last Falkirk live gig. So far they have only managed 3 songs on studio recordings, that have been released on their interwebby thingy. They have written and played a lot more, so I'm catching up on the songs 'still to be released' so to speak (as I HATE going to gigs where I don't know ALL of the songs). Anyhow, I'm doing my best to write the words down to learn for their forthcoming big Glasgow gig on the 24th of this month. But my search for a pen to scrawl down what I think the words may be, was initially futile.
I mean in the WHOLE of my upstairs' rooms there wasn't a pen! In this world of text or type communication and wee things you shove in the computer that hold all of your personal and precious citings, that you can lose easily (I found Ross's one in a bag of crisps he was eating at the comp when it 'went missing') is a pen so hard to come across? I don't think he has used one since leaving high school. Has my house become so bereft of simple beginnings that now pens are becoming short...? I'm off to Asda tomorrow for twenty bundles of the best, cheapest ones they have and planking one in every room. (Not that I have 20 rooms, but you know what I mean - a few spare for the (ahem!) conservatory and extension that Camelot have planned for me). By the way, I'm hoping the lines:"Burned my girl with your silver bagette-ee, break down though with Walter and Betty"
aren't actually what I'm hearing....!
Anyhow - I think I'll now go and see if it's safe to venture back downstairs. Yes, the boys have all been watching the Jackson memorial on telly. Sadly, (for some) I've never been a fan, although I admit he did write a fine tune or two. None however, made it into my record collection. But the bloke has been tabloid material for yonks now - for one reason or another - and I sincerely think he was a mighty fine father. I thank my blogroll for not blogging about him, (so far) it kind of spared my replies. I've never understood a bloke who dangles a baby from a balcony. I think the kid he dangled was called Blanket - which would have been a handy thing at the time if he had have fallen! He was a bit strange, though, and I often wondered what he was all about. Too much money I suppose. Had he stuck to just singing and touring, maybe I'd have appreciated him more. But he kinda struck me as the kind who would be happy sitting under a bridge calling 'Who goes there...!?'
If anyone asks - you've not seen me - okay!