OCCUPIED COUNTRY

I get knocked down but I get up again....

Back again after a short while. Nothing too dramatic - just life getting in the way. My Dad's gone into respite care for two to six weeks. They're hopefully going to come to some conclusion about the best way forward for him. I must admit the place he's in is bloody lovely; all clean sheets and artwork on the walls. He has his own room but is encouraged to mix with the other "inmates" as often as possible. They get taken for the occasional pub lunch or day out as well as physiotherapy, chiropody, hairdressing etc. I wouldn't mind a stint of it myself.

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Apart the "toad work" squatting constantly on my back, I have managed to keep my outlook sunny with a trip to the 20-20 cup match between Lancs and Yorks. I even managed to stay sunny despite Lancashire's (injury-induced) defeat to the Tykes. Still there's always next year. Really it's just an excuse for a whole mess of us to enjoy an evening of good banter, crap beer and long queues. Defeat was the least of our worries.

We split into two groups - those with strong constitutions set off for the fleshpots of Manchester whilst those with work the day after or flabby, old-before-time bodies headed home via Chester Road in the hope of flagging a passing black cab.

A mistake as we soon discovered. Finally we decided to pop into the Pomona Palace hostelry in order to get a beer and order a taxi.

The barmaid appeared bemused to be inundated with 4 customers at 9:30 on a Friday evening and took some time sorting out the pouring of such an unprecidented amount of ale. We asked for a local taxi number.

"Well I can give you one but it won't turn up" she grimaced.

"Err why?" We enquired.

"Dunno....they just don't."

Super. A phone call to one of our usual Taxi firms produced one within 15 minutes and half an hour after calling we were ensconced in our local where we discovered that the landlord of 15 years has finally decided to call it a day this coming September.

Please God don't make it a fucking "fun" pub. Please.

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So last night a bunch of us decided to get together for a night of guitars, pianos, gob-irons and beer/wine. The occasion being a complete absence of women who were all away on Youngest's Darlin's Hen weekend in York/Leeds.

The Captain's new house just around the corner from Occupied Towers is an ideal place for this type of thing as it's fairly cut off from surrounding houses and a good thrash isn't going to disturb the entire neighborhood.

We range from almost complete beginners to a few very accomplished musicians. So, if you were walking past between the hours of 8:00pm and 1:00am you would have heard an eclectic selection although heavily influenced by the Blues - which is just as it should be.

It was grand and it does a man's soul good to pay hamage to the likes of Cash, Williams, Johnson, Lennon and McCartney, Clapton, Mitchell, Dylan, Simon, Cobain and many others in the company of folk young enough to be my son (as, indeed, one was).

It's been a long time since I played in anger with others stretching me. Lovely.