And so time flew by as it
has a tendency to.
A year after the
inaugural York Ukulele Festival and the second approached. I was
living in Driffield by this point and hadn't given any serious
thought to taking part.
That was until myself
and Mrs Hunts took a trip to York to see The Pukes – a gig that was
sadly attended by only about 20 people. At the gig though were four
head honchos from the Grand Old Uke of York.
One of them recognised
me as the guy who had spilt the Guinness the year before and one
other wrongly chastised me for calling them “The Grand Old Duke of
York”. I know your group's name, motherfucker , should have been my
response, but I opted for the more British approach of eye-rolling
and tutting instead. Guinness Memory Woman asked me if I was going to
play at the festival. I was shocked
Anyway I agreed to
perform. Had I been headhunted or were they just really desperate for
performers?
Who cares? I picked a
setlist with the same finesse as the previous year and spproached
practising in the same slapdash manner, even going as far as to get
roaring drunk the night before the show to ensure I was both nervous
and hungover by the time my turn came.
This time I hadn't
bothered to invite any friends for “support” and I was going it
alone.
I arrived early and
watched some of the other acts. There was the usual Amy Winehouse
horror show and general ineptitude, but a couple of people stood out.
There was a gut playing flamenco on a ukulele (more about him later)
and another guy with humorous songs with quite near-the-knuckle
lyrics. Who knows why the latter appealed to me so? *winking
face emoji*
My turn came. This time
I wasn't leathered, but I was far from sober. I rattled through Sham
69's Hurry Up Harry and a host of obscure songs before ending once
more with 99 Red Balloons, by far my most popular number.
The event wasn't as
good as the previous year. The Grand Old Uke of York were more
interested in their own performance in town as they were now major stars,
dahling. As a result no shits were given on their part about the
organisation of other events and less effort was made to showcse the
uke and encourage people to participate.
I hung around to watch
a few more acts before going off to meet some friends for more beer.
During this time I
found myself talking to the flamenco ukulele-ist. He had a
Bridlington sticker on his uke and I asked him if he was from that
neck of the woods. He said he was and when I told him I lived in
Driffield he gave me a business card which looked very officious, although I was suitably impressed, and
told me I should come along to his group in Bridlington the following
week.
The chap's name? It was
none other than legendary Bridlingtonian and former member of Sisters
of Mercy (yes, really), Sir Ted Zeppelin.
I left and went to
further thin the blood in my alcohol stream before taking the bus.
When I got on the bus
Ted was there too, along with his sidekick William – yes, I'm aware
this made them Bill and Ted which is most bodacious.
We were all rather
well-oiled which meant it was time for us all to get our instruments
out and publicly strum away like mad men. It was a bit more challenging
as we were all so intoxicated and it was difficult to keep up, but we
all came together in a manner of speaking.
Other passengers on the top deck of the bus didn't seem to mind the drunk ukulele-playing and some seemed quite genuinely entertained by it.
I had finally met
like-minded ukulele enthusiasts who also detested the Beatles and
wanted to rock. The future seemed promising.
Stay tuned, uke
hunters.
You can follow me on
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/ukehunts
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