This weekend I was helping a Beatles tribute band in a village hall party in St. Middle-of-Nowhere, Cornwall. The first half of the show was wonderful. At half time everybody (including the band) sat down to a ploughmans. The M.C. asked me to turn on his mic, which I did, but he didn't address the guests, he just put it down on one of the tables. Above the hubbub of people eating, drinking and chatting, we could hear an amplified version of a very boring conversation about buying a pair of trousers, and the absolute deafening noise of cutlery.
In the second half of the show the 50p in the electric meter ran out and the band was cast into darkness and silence.
Richard "Sublime to the ridiculous" B
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