Sidmouth AFC

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!

Bradninch!

Bradninch feels like home. It fell to the Tone Army onslaught what feels like years ago, and actually might well have been. We were looking forward to this one cos we love the Castle, and to add to the fun it was our second landlord's birthday bash in 3 months (see previous tone-o-sphere).

Harry was struck by an inexplicable bout of nerves, Bernie by an attack of Delhi Belly, Mark by a passing bolt of axe based inspiration and Ben by just how good looking the bar staff are at the Castle these days.

The evening went like a dream. A quiet start, slow build, a sudden influx of girls who just wanted to have fun around half ten just as our set went into party overdrive. It really couldn't have been better.

We played a belter, and cant wait for the Guildhall bash in April. We also managed to confirm our return to headline Friday night at the Summer Festival, so look out Bradninch, you're in for a lively summer! It's 2011 - the year of the Tone...

Hop on baby - we're riding bareback!

Our last trip to the Racehorse in Taunton was a blast, and we set out to enjoy this one too. There's a certain je ne sais quoi about the folk of Somerset. They're not just wise, good looking, erudite and witty. Hang on - I just sais quoi'd it - they're effing mental and drink like fish. Thats why we love them!

The crowd were up for it from the word go, just as we'd hoped. Despite the hint of bacchanalian energies, only one person made it onto the stage unintentionally, and that was between sets. That's not to say that some startling moves weren't being made. The famous Racehorse dance floor was the stage for some fearsome yet statesmanlike jiving, with one new recruit to the Tone Army truly channelling the nuanced spirit of jazz and did so, entranced, for a good ten minutes up on stage, and entirely from inside Marks personal space.

There were new tunes, new badges, new levels of virtuosity and new depths of amateurishness - so standard Tones Territory all round.

We don't know what we did right, but it was certainly working it's magic. Maybe it's because the whole town drinks from the River Tone, but they seem to like us, and we love them right back, again and again, in hats! We'll be back, so spread the word. And remember, don't just drink from the River Tone - dive in!

See you next week at the Castle. Love ya! X