It blows in Friday afternoon, then stays with us Saturday and Sunday, F5 gusting 7 or more. Not the weather for Calstar, given any choice, and with previous commitments made for Saturday, gigs Friday night and early Saturday evening, we'd be hard pressed to find the chance to take her out anyway. I expect Dad will still head down there at some point to check on her. The plug fitting for the shore power socket arrived in the week, so I've no doubt she'll be plugged in before the weekend is over.
Friday night's gig is local, two minutes from home. The Pilot in Hardwicke, our first gig there was our last gig of 2016, the night before Christmas Eve, and was an absolute riot. As a rule, I don't "rank" gigs, it's about as sensible as scoring women; horrifically rude, short-sighted and bound to end in tears for the guy holding the pencil. I've loved every gig I've ever played, each beautiful in its own special way. And there have, to be fair, been a few. But our debut at The Pilot was definitely one of a kind, such a amazing crowd, a sweet blend of friends, family and new faces we'd never seen before. Such a brilliant way to end the year.
Having set the bar so high, I'm feeling a little anxious about going back. Actually, I'd be anxious anyway. I'm long, long past any vestige of stage fright, but I've never been able to take a live gig for granted.
Saturday is therapy. An "Instructor's Play Day" at Frampton; the idea being all the instructors get to knock the cobwebs off and remind themselves how to sail again before the sail training season starts back up in April. Basically, we get to play with all the boats we then spend the rest of the season teaching with. I'm so, so glad they've managed to arrange some decent wind, it should be an absolute hoot. If I can persuade Dad to join us at the lake, I'll get him out with me in a Wanderer. Otherwise, I have my sights and hopes set on playing with the Fevas and their asymmetrics.
Saturday night we have a party. I am not a fan of parties. Unless they involve my band or at least my guitar in some way. And, preferably, pay me.
Ironically for the frontman of an unarguably successful covers band, I'm rubbish in a crowded room unless I can hide behind the band's PA and my microphone. I would hesitate to actually call myself shy, but I am, I guess, fairly described as socially awkward. A crowded hall, seated at a table with friends, loud music so I can't understand the conversation, my hearing is not the best at the best of times; well, it is little short of my idea of purgatory.
On the other hand, it's my karate club's presentation night. In the eleven or twelve years I've been training with them, I think I've made two because they always, inevitably, clash with gig commitments. This year I'm unusually clear of gigs for this one Saturday, so feel like I should support them. Actually, I want to support them. Socially inadequate as I am, I actually like these people, a lot, even if we do spend most of our time punching and kicking each other. Or perhaps that should read because.
Sunday we're back at the Golden Lion, which is a welcome revival. A fumble with diaries and a change of management at the pub meant we lost them through the whole of last year. I wasn't even sure they were still doing live music. But a Facebook message and a phone call back in November, and they're back in the diary with us for 2017. It's an early start Sunday evening, so I wasn't planning to race at Frampton as there isn't really time. I'll need to be loading up the kit and on my way to the gig by 1600. There are plenty of odd jobs that need catching up on around the house that will fill my time before the gig on Sunday, and I'll need to find time for lunch.
Then I look at that forecast. I can actually feel the thrill of Buffy screaming across the lake in a finely balanced ball of adrenaline and spray right now. The first race starts at 1400. Maybe we'll have time for just the one? Maybe?
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