5,7,5 – 365 12th November 2015

5,7,5 – 365
12th November 2015
 

A haiku (sometimes two) and a diary entry (sometimes not), every day for a year.

 

 

I’ve not much to say

There’s just too much on my mind

No diary then


 

I realise now

We make ourselves unhappy

So, to work out why 

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5,7,5 – 365 11th November 2015

5,7,5 – 365
11th November 2015
 

A haiku and a diary entry, every day for a year. All in no particular order. 
I’m behind on my blog, I have a gig to write up and another important event but they are still works in progress. So Diary entries and haiku may appear out of synch. It doesn’t really matter, I hop back and forth in my head and the blog will just reflect that.

In the meantime, over a coffee in my favourite weekday haunt, with no willow in sight, I came up with the following.
 

 

The Willow weeping

Cries golden tears to the wind

For Winter draws near 

5,7,5 – 365  7th November 2015

5,7,5 – 365

7th November 2015
 

A haiku and a diary entry, every day for a year.

 
After a late night out in London, with just the two of us at home, we are due a lazy Saturday morning wth coffee and breakfast taken back upstairs. Dirk Skypes us from Australia and Laila fetches the puppy so that everyone over there can see him (and me, having coffee in my pyjamas).

 

A quiet morning

Breakfast and coffee in bed

Everyone’s here 

5,7,5 – 365  6th November 2015 (3)

5,7,5 – 365

6th November 2015 (3)
 

Some haiku and the odd diary entry or three, every day for a year.

Laila and I first heard the Young’uns play at The Cambridge Folk Festival back in 2014. They were a lovely surprise to us then and we were greatly impressed, not only with their music but also with David Eagle’s frequent and hilarious interruptions. Eagle, described as being a man capable of heckling himself, not only segways into his band mate’s introductions but frequently into the songs themselves, he always has the audience in stitches. Tonight was the third time we have seen them play, we also have tickets to see them again up in Barton upon Humber in December. Tonight’s gig is made even more special because all three of us Musical Musketeers are together again – Lynne and I meet up at my office and then we both go to find Laila at Kings Cross Station. Once we are all joined up, it’s off to Kerbisher’s for the requisite fish & chips. In a vain attempt to appear ladylike in front of Lynne, Laila says she isn’t sure she can eat all of hers. Ordinarily, she would have finished hers first before attacking mine but tonight she leaves a few on her plate. I’m impressed, this is a level of restraint, the like of which I have never witnessed in her before.
We leave Kerbisher’s, with Laila trying very hard not to look back at her plate, and walk up to The Slaughtered Lamb, where we descend into the basement, to get our hands stamped and take our seats. We have attended midweek and Saturday gigs here before but Friday night sees the place packed, with people crowding the pavements outside too. Getting drinks upstairs at the bar requires great patience and a lot of repeated shouting – although I’m not always patient, I can shout, though apparently not nearly loud enough. I arrive back in the basement with the wrong drinks to find the bar down there is now open and without a queue. I also have a text from Laila on my phone to that effect. Still, what does this matter? I’m out with my two favourite ladies, having a great time and the drinks are easily rectified. I like The Slaughtered Lamb and have enjoyed many a gig here. Artists by the likes of Futur Primitif (Dan Lefkowitz), Israel Nash and Amanda Shires & Jason Isbell. The venue also allows me to crack a favourite post modern gag, “I used to be a werewolf”, the line is left hanging there whilst Laila groans.
Support was provided by Maz O’Connor who played on through the repeated bleeping of a carbon dioxide alarm with a charming smile and confidence that was clearly borne out of her love of what she was doing. This was one of those wonderful introductions to an artist that we haven’t heard before that leaves us wanting to hear much more – check her out here.
http://www.mazoconnor.com
And here is one of the beautiful songs she performed for us.

The Young’uns took to the stage, also having to play through the Jean-Michel Jarre style bleeping, this is all getting post, post modern. As expected David Eagle has everyone laughing and the band have us all singing along. Eagle tells us that if we all hold our breath, the alarm will stop. Laila is having a brilliant time, this is the loudest I’ve heard her sing outside of a Felice Brothers gig, where she can literally drown out the band. Lynne is clearly taken with the Young’uns too. It’s a smashing gig night.



Afterwards we walk down to Farringdon Station, Laila and I say goodnight to Lynne at Kings Cross and take the train back up to Lincolnshire. Later, at the car, the secret of Laila’s earlier self control is revealed, a third of a packet of wine gums. I’m just surprised she left that many!

 

Bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep

I used to be a werewolf 

Hark, the slaughtered lamb

 

 

 

At The Slaughtered Lamb 

The lycanthrope joke aside

We had a great night 

Continue reading “5,7,5 – 365  6th November 2015 (3)”

5,7,5 – 365 6th November 2015 (2)

5,7,5 – 365
6th November 2015 (2)

Some haiku and diary entries, everyday for a year.

Friday night is gig night. Laila, Lynne and are set to see The Young’uns play at The Slaughtered Lamb this evening. There will be fish and chips, Guinness and Laila will sing – she will sing quite a lot.
 

The week’s end draws near

An end to duty and chore

Live music tonight  

5,7,5 – 365  6th November 2015

5,7,5 – 365 6th November 2015
A haiku and a diary entry, everyday for a year.
There are spent rockets on the street this morning, launched from people’s back gardens yesterday to celebrate the failure of The Gunpowder Plot. I read Guy Fawkes’s Wikipedia entry this morning, which details how he was fortunate enough to avoid the very worst aspects of his final sentence, a fate worse than but not excluding death.
 

Remember the Fifth

Rockets, sparklers, smoke, fire

And Guy’s grizzly end