The end of the line
I’m off to see Show of Hands tonight. Sadly, Steve Knightley can’t be there, his son has just been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia which is a life threatening Cancer but often curable. The Gig will still go ahead with Bhil Beer and Amanda Sykes but that is only two thirds of the Band (or 50%, depending on how much of a purist you are). I saw the pair of them earlier this year but hopefully they will do some SoH numbers.
The Band wrote to us all (via the Box Office) earlier in the week and giving us the option to get our money back. What little I know of the LongDogs though, there probably won’t be many empty seats tonight.
In the unlikely event that SK reads this, my thoughts are with him at this difficult time and I hope the treatment is successful.
-oOo-
This article needs a little more research to fill the gaps but I want to get the meat up on the bones. My best friend at school was a lad called Wally. Whilst something of a geek, he had the sort of amusing manner and sharp brain that put him up in the league of Stephen Fry. If wit was shit, he had dysentry…
(BloggerWife occasionally uses this phrase about me, although her implied circumstances are where Senna Pods are required. There again, we have been married twelve years so she can read me like a book!)
Wally went to College down Woolwich way and moved to Brighton, working for I.C.L. I went to stay with him for weekends several times and on one occasion he invited me to a party. It was being organised by the girls in the office below theirs in the City somewhere and it turned out they all worked for Women’s Realm, Women’s World and such like. (IPC Magazines?) It was being held in a house somewhere in North London, which I recall was at the end of a Tube line and practically spitting distance from the buffers.
It was a fairly normal party, but everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Eventually what they were expecting happened- one of Wally’s Friends had drank too much and was in a deep drunken sleep. At this point we moved to stage two; the lippy & felt tips appeared and he was “enhanced” in various ways.
An hour or two later, stage three happened, he woke up and blearily took himself off to the toilet, not noticing that we were following him not too discreetly. A minute or two later, there was a huge shout from within:
YOU BASTARDS!
and the party resumed…
on November 29, 2007 at 9:22 pm
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So sorry about Sk’s son.
That sounds like the sort of party I used to attend!
on November 30, 2007 at 8:36 am
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That’s very bad about the leukaemia. That’s how my Dad went. Thoughts are with that boy.