I've been around the Globe, and I... I... I...

A new high in Thorvertonage, we broke new ground, cut new turf, played new tunes and wowed new faces.  If this blog has been a little while coming, it’s because we’re only now in a position to make sense of what was a great and surreal night.

 

Hormones were practically dripping from the ceiling, of all and in some cases synthetic varieties.  By the time we reached the triumphant crescendo of the end of the first set, stocking tops were on display, percussion instruments had been seized for the duration by the new Rhythm Police wing of the tone army, and strangely, the pub dog made homeless because someone had fallen asleep in his basket.   

 

The respectable folk of Exeter’s Newtown revealed themselves to be the hooligans we always knew them to be (we christen thee Red Squadron), damaging the ceiling’s plasterwork pogoing to I Can See For Miles.  The Southern Boogie of Personal Jesus left people confused but elated (some thought it was Dr and the Medics with different words, which I guess it was in a sense).  Gloriously big handed lady types generously offered to avail themselves to your favorite behatted, bewildered balladeers.

 

To snatch triumph from the Jaws of victory, Poor Harry had to turn down the most direct and urgent proposition of his short life, only to climb into Mum & Dad’s car for the ride home in front of the generously hearted dame.  Bless.

 

We love the Globe!

May day! May Day!

Everybody knows that the earliest May Day celebrations appeared in pre-Christian  times, with the festival of Flora, the Roman Goddess of flowers, bless her.  Well, Thorvertonians know when they’re onto a good thing, cos it’s still the biggest night in the social calendar since the last one, and guess who they asked to come out to play!

 

That’s right, at the invitation of the esteemed and respected Thorverton Country Show Committee, The lil’ ol’ Thorvertones were asked to provide a turn for their May Day Ball – and we provided quite a spectacle.  We were determined to make the evening go with a bang, and given the rare chance to use an actual theatrical curtain rather than simply stumble into action, in our excitement we wisely decided to open with a two minute Northern Soul dance demonstration.  I can’t believe we hadn’t thought of this sooner, and what a scoop for the committee!  Bizarrely, the paying audience were a trifle bemused, and the nerves of the organizers had started to jangle.

 

So we ploughed on regardless, but this time on a more traditional tack and actually using our instruments.  And singing.  And all that…

 

Possibly it was the booze.  Perchance it was the dizzying vibrations of the 450 Watt Bass Mothership descending for the first time.  Potentially it was the disorienting aroma of the exploding backstage Prawn Ring rider.  Most likely, it was the heady mix of whisky, lemsip, bow-ties, bravado, profitoroles, rohypnol, stage fright, the surreal influence of playing in the abandoned stage set of a vicarage sitting room, the hall full of people in Black Tie and our secret shape-throwing competition.  We’ll never know, but it only ruddy well worked.  Phew.

 

By the end of the night, even a HUGE My Generation couldn’t stop the wonderful village people wanting more.  And there will be more! We can’t wait!  All things told, a brilliant time was had by all, and dancing for the best part of three hours takes some serious dedication to the cause so thank you, you wonderful wonderful people.

 

See you all at the Globe on the 15th!

 

Love ya!