Right now, I want to work out a way to make a living sitting and listening to folk music and knitting. The closest A and i have got to it is a small holding with alpaca, but I have no idea how many alpaca I'd need to make a living and at an average of £4,000 for a female (albeit pregnant), I don't think it's viable unless I win the lottery.
Ah well...
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Yesterday was a brilliant day. A was flying out to the US, so he didn't get to join us, but I took Mum and Dad to an event at Cecil Sharp House, which is the home of the English Folk Dance and Song Society, in Camden Town. (Seems unlikely, so close to the buzz that is Camden market, but that's London for you - very... mixed!) Anyway, it was an event celebrating the life of Cyril Tawney, a folk singer who died a couple of years ago. I grew up listening to Cyril Tawney songs, since my Dad felt a great affinity for his songs, particularly those he'd written about his time in the Royal Navy. We never got to see him (by the time I'd thought to use the internet to track him down, he was becoming ill. His last gig was a maritime festival in Lancaster that was the same weekend as a family friend's wedding in Aylesbury, a good 200 miles away, so we missed the boat, so to speak.
But yesterday made up for it.
I laughed, I cried, I danced, I sang.
Dad loved it, as I knew he would, but so did Mum (to her surprise, I think!), since it was like an enormous party, the kind people of her generation went to, I guess, where people sang rather than deafen the neighbours with a stereo. Some of the acts were well-known on the folk circuit, others beyond to those people who only brush the edges,such as Norma Waterson and Martin Carthy, others still, were simply the bedrock of British folk - those people who turn out to the club and just sing, for the love of the song.
And then, there was Les Barker.
If you have never seen or heard Les Barker performing his poems, you have missed out, big time. I first saw him when a group of friends and I camped at Towersey Festival in 1990 (A good start at festival going, I thought - stay just a mile and half from home, then you can get back for a shower...). We howled with laughter, and I've never met anyone who doesn't.
A grand day out, indeed.
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On a more reflective note, the sun shone again, today, as it often does. In memory of 96 people who went to watch a match and never came home, RIP.
1 comment:
I know how it feels -- I never feel quite ready, especially on Mondays. Even though it's been the weekend and I did absolutely nothing, I always feel tired at the thought of having to start another work week!
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