. On Saturday, as we passed the ‘Marble Slab Creamery’ Mumble and I giggled. We were on our
way to London with Bob Marley sweetly singing to us. We made it to Deb’s house
in London – Jamie (Owen’s pops) lady friend. He was there too. We were handed
Flying Monkey beers, which were delicious, entertaining and contained a special
ingredient of ‘soul’. Though this place was in the middle of a residential
neighbourhood, there just so happened to be a tennis court in the backyard.
Dumble took on Sowen for a silly and sweaty match of tennis. It is nice to get
some exercise when we can, especially of the fun nature. A scrumptious dinner
of stew, bread, bean dip, orange veggie mash and good company followed.
The London Music Club is a pretty neat little place. It was a nice change from living rooms and bars. It is found within a big, high
ceilinged house. There are three show rooms. One is a main room at the back of
the house for the bigger shows; the other is a smaller room at the front for
folks like us, and then a basement where the real rowdy shows happen. There was
really cool art on the walls and tables with tea lights to set the mood. A
lovely little lady named Jessica opened for us. Between her friends and family
and ours we had the little room filled to the tits. Doug went up next, and
handled the breaking of his bailing twine (that held his banjo up) very well.
He is becoming a natural at the music and comedy routine. The energy in the
room was rising and by the time we finished the set with ‘Old Man Lamus’ feet
were stomping, I was sweating, and Mumble was tempted to throw his box on the
ground like he had the other night in Campbelford. It was so great to see
familiar faces – Doug had some friends there who we had met at his place/the
wedding in PEI. And a bunch of Londonites who Mumble, Owen, and I know from
summers in Saint Andrews were kicking around. After some post show parking lot
giggles, a friend of a friend invited us over for pumpkin, an offer to not be
refused. We played records, conversed with each other and munched on a midnight
snack of liverworst, cheese,
crackers, and pie. Mumble and our friend Mitch had taken off to the bar so we
went to meet them just in time for last call. Unfortunately we had to walk
through a few blocks of wounded and cold female deer – eyeliner running down
their faces and juiced up zombie males. The sign said ‘closed’ but we gave er a
try anyway. “LAST CALL” the bartender shouted so we ran right up to the bar for
a pint and a tequila shot in celebration of a good show. Mumble and Doug
challenged a Polish couple to a game of pool – that never had a proper
conclusion, because we had 30 seconds to drink our beer and get out. I played
bloody knuckles for the first time, although everybody else got a bloody
knuckle except me so I think they went a bit easy on me.
A long walk home followed, and we made it home for some cold leftover stew, eaten right out of the container. Then we all passed out for a nice sleep.
Sunday was hot. Doug went off for a family friend feast and sleepover. The rest of us just took er easy. Little tennis, little walk, then
a Thanksgiving dinner in
Ingersoll. A town just outside London. The lady hosting us was trained as a
chef – I was excited. We were greeted by a bull terrier – Don Cherry’s Dogs
Grandson apparently – named Piggy. He resembled a man-shark. We did not have
turkey which was kind of nice…instead there was roasted zucchini & pepper,
carrot & fennel salad, lentil salad, parmesan penne, potato salad and the
highlight: chicken pot pie. After dinner, there were about 5 desserts which we
ended up finishing on Monday in our doggy bag of leftovers I asked for. Mmmmm.
When we got back to Deb’s some creativity sparked. That night I felt like I
didn’t sleep at all – coffee after dinner is a bad call. Speaking of coffee – I
had some this morning and we’re on the 401 and I have to peeeeeeeeeeeeee even
though I went 3 times before we left te house…but I’m not gonna say anything
until it’s really bad…
Monday we had some Biscotti and coffee then began our trek back East. Our next stop was Guelph where a friend of Owen and Mumble offered
up his home to sleep and studio to do some jamming and recording in. We were
welcomed by an offer of beer – which sometimes I am weary of because people
often pull out Molsons. But no, Josh had a flat of tall canned Special Pale Ale
from the Wellington Brewery just for us. He was a great host. We finished up
our doggy bagged Thanksgiving leftovers while watching HD survivorman. Then we
made our way about 15 minutes outside of Guelph to Turtuleshell Studio. It was
on a farm, amongst the beautiful cornfields.yes""> The house is owned by Phil – a drummer/percussionist/stay at
home dad/nursery man. He is in the process of building the engineering room for
the studio. One loud burst of thunder and lightning and some pounding rain came down. A
disco ball was spinning a red light when we walked into the studio...
Why are they called pot holes? Because they're roughly the shape of a pot? The depth of a pot?
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