Sidmouth. Home of mandolins, morris men and Victorian morality. Whatever would they make of our travelling band of top hatted troubadours? We arrived at the Football Club with the intent of putting some HEY HEY in this lovely folk town's nonny nonny, and I think we pulled it off.
We mounted the stage at 9. We finished at 1.15. We played for 3 and a bit hours. Do the sums people. That's right, we rocked so hard our modwardian steam power ripped a ruddy hole in the space time continuum for the first time in over a year. To celebrate these time travelling shenanigans, we made like Marty McFly and gave Johnny B Goode a bloody good seeing to. Great Scott indeed!
As is inevitable in any historic campaign, there are casualties. In a spectacular move, a veteran Tone Army foot soldier managed to break her wrist sliding in her own beer slops. She danced on. Sally, your dedication to the cause will be recognised. Sidmouth. Consider yourselves recruited. We will be back. Next stop Tiverton. See you at the Twyford!
