I meant to relay this exchange from the Wee Folk Club yesterday. Before I do, a brief explanation of the setting.
The Wee folk Club is a classic folk club, run by the kind of men who were forced to find their way in life before the right on sixties made being autistic an option.
Subsequently their only form of expression was to set up clubs based strictly around their particular, peculiar passions and run in their particular, peculiar way. This is how the Wee folk club operates. Gentle, human, principled. Fabulous in my book.
Anyway, we arrived at about 9:00. Doors were at 8:30 but we were under the impression that being billed as a club you could drift in as and when. This was not the case. A man whose beard made Father Christmas’s look like adolescent bum fluff stopped us going through the door as if were were storming a primary school with rifles. Were were told, in the most antiquated Scottish brogue since Christopher Lee got carried away with the basket weaving, that under no circumstances could we go in before the break.
After 10 minutes of standing by the toilets, the ZZ Top, Wiccan, high functioning, proto nipper tickler invited us in with a”Why were you late?” (I simplify, as the dialect he used was thicker and more impenetrable than anything you hear spouted on The Wire).
As it was, everyone was very friendly, especially the group of friends from Port Talbot that we sat next to. One of them sang in an American accent (see previous post).
So, after the break, before the gig was about to restart, the clock watching Gandalf fella leapt up extremely excited and made an announcement to the 15-20 people in the club like he was being heckled at Speaker Corner.
“Can any anyone here make it to Motherwell by 7.30 tomorrow night?, he boomed.
Silence. Awkwardness.
Eventually, two hands went up. A wiry, old grey regular in his late fifties, and a beautiful young woman who looked as if she’d been sitting their since 1964.
“I have a pair of tickets to see the legendary Eric Bogle in Motherwell tomorrow night, do either of you have anyone you’d like to take”.
The girl shook her head. Beardy, nervous but enjoying having the stage, looked to the streaky bloke. “Calum”, he said purposefully, “Do you have anyone to go with you?”
Calum, a little stressed at being put on the spot, paused for a what seemed like a lifetime, but in folk circles would be viewed as the briefest of hiatuses (I had to shave twice). After the awkward silence enjoyed by all involved, Calum piped up in a high pitched Scottish voice and said the funniest thing I’ve heard at the festival.
“I don’t know. It’s very short notice. I’ve only just heard about it”.
With that, beardy made a decision and gave one to Calum and one the the Julie Christie girl in the corner saying, “Well you can go together then”.
I believe police are searching waste ground on the outskirts of Motherwell as we speak.
As for today’s show, the audience was down. 20 people and we’ve had standing room only for the last two days, so it was a bit disappointing. Still, it was a good show and the audience said they really enjoyed it.
Had a three star review off a member of the public on Edfringe apparently, saying were were brilliant but marking us down because some parents chose to bring their kid despite us warning them about the adult content. That is a lesson that, as we’d told the parents what to expect and they were fine, however it affected the rest of the audience having kids there. Not that it’s pure filth, but of course there’s bound to be a smidgin.
Still, it feels like a negative review of the parenting of two liberal people not a review of two hilarous and charming comedians! There should be sites like “Parent Advisor.co.uk” or “comparetheparent.com” so that people more concerned about parenting than comedy can spew their philosophies on nurture there instead.
