It may have seemed a little quiet on the Tone front of late, but only because, like all mighty bastions of Industry, we went private. But unlike our publicly listed cousins, ours was a strictly time limited arrangement. That's right - we can only dance for The Man in our little blue pants for so long before the longing to reach out and touch you, our loyal Tone Army, becomes overwhelming and we stumble, sometimes only partially dressed, into the pubs of the South West....
But what have we actually been up to? Well.
We've played at a Black Tie stately home do. Turned out to be more Moulin Rouge than Downton Abbey. Great work Somerset - you do decadent so well.
We were joined onstage at the Coaver Club by the Birthday Boy, for a rousing rendition of Mr Brightside - the reaction to which and the slightly Gym-like surroundings put us in mind of being the house band in the Teen Spirit video. Which was a good feeling.
We played on the verandah of one of the finest views in the Exe Valley. And that was just the audience. It was like Devon Life had merged with What Tattoo? magazine. Krys, we salute you.
We played to one of the best looking wedding crowds ever. Lovely lovely people, and we suspect a bit naughty in a very very good way too. Check the video evidence - Braunton 90210. Beautiful Bride crowd surfing to Pretty Vacant? Check. Flashing Uncle? Oh yes.
We returned to West Town Farm to play our first ever Bicentennial. A five way fortieth, with an industrial smoke machine. Barney, Alex and all - an honour. Congratulations once again.
Then the ace in the hole, the triumphant arena that saw our return to the public eye, ThorFest. Thorverton's inaugural beer and music festival saw us in the coveted sunset slot, and a great time was had by all. Are there many villages that can field ten great homegrown bands and twenty barrels of ale? The brains behind the operation was our very own ginger bellowsmith Bernie. Good work, Mr Samuel. Same time next year please.
And most recently of all, a Friday 13th date at our favourite Somerset drinking den, the Racehorse. What could go wrong? Apart from the exploding effects boxes and breaking strings leaving Bunting woefully exposed, filling time with his repertoire of precisely three jokes. Two of which are cheese themed. We smashed the bloody back doors in all the way to half midnight in the end though. Mary, we love the way you do what you do.
And that's us. We went for a bit. But we're back now. We never really went away. And we've missed you. And want to get right up close to you. See you down the front.
Love you byeeeeee! X
- posted from a wireless telegraph
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