It went a bit like this
Me: /unzips case/ Well, Caitrín - it's time.
Bodhrán: Nrrrrgh
Me: Come on a storín, we've got to play now.
Bodhrán: Cad é? Eff off.
Me: Caitrín, people are watching us - it's only for a few hours.
Bodhrán: Sleepy. 's hot as the divil here.
Me: /frantically tightening head/ Ah, for fuck's sake.
Bodhrán: Perhaps you could pound at your chair instead.
Translation: my bodhrán was loose and floppy and gave me fits for three hours this afternoon. I was spoilt by my previous one, Mallory, who seemed impervious to the air round her. This one...isn't. The slightest hint of damp in the air renders her bleeding unconscious. She's a kangaroo by birth, thus she'd likely be happier in a desert.
Erm...alright, I thought too long about that last bit and now I'm slightly disturbed by it. I mean, I know that many bodhráns are made, in part, out of things that are dead, but...sure, I'm thinking too hard on it now.
At any rate, this was the sort of seisiun in which I confess I breathed a sigh of relief when somebody else made a mistake - safety in numbers sort of thing. I'm coming to internalise that it happens - even to the really experienced players, and nobody's descended from on high to smite them out of existence, so.
So an amusing thing happened today. The seisiun time today was a bit earlier than usual, so as is my wont I'd been fretting about arriving on time. When I'm accustomed to something happening at a specific time, I often fall into a sort of...I don't know how to describe it, but I sort of switch off and let the corpus find its own way there sort of thing. So when something changes, I've really got to pay attention - or at least I convince myself I do. At any rate, when I walked into the pub, I noticed that nobody of us was there but for myself. Ken had warned me that perhaps something could change, and as I'd been out most of last night, I got nervous and phoned him.
Trinity Hall is a noisy place - it merely is. That's part of its character, the noise. The space in front of Trinity Hall is a noisy place as well. Thus, I thought it really unlikely that I'd heard Ken utter the word 'asshole' in the midst of disjointed (again noise and two mobiles) little chat. I thought to myself 'sure, he never said that - 'cos why should he do? I never phoned him to ask an entirely stupid question'. He assured me that nothing had changed, I went back inside, and fought with the WIFI network there for entirely too long.
A few moments later, Ken wanders in under the weight of his gear ('s the trouble with people who play more than one instrument - you've only two hands ever, have you? This shite's bleeding heavy), and I think that perhaps I should be helping him to set us up rather than pissing about on the Internet. So I do.
He pauses for a moment, looks and me and says 'did I say anything...bad to you when you phoned'? I started to laugh and said 'you might have done'. I honestly thought I'd misheard him what with the ambient din (and his usually tidy speech), but no. Something had happened on his drive to the pub that moved him to curse at another driver. He realised when he rang off with me that 'asshole' was the likely the last thing I'd heard him say.
Good times. :D
(Right, so if you know him - don't tell him I wrote about it in my blog, please?)
Bodhrán: Nrrrrgh
Me: Come on a storín, we've got to play now.
Bodhrán: Cad é? Eff off.
Me: Caitrín, people are watching us - it's only for a few hours.
Bodhrán: Sleepy. 's hot as the divil here.
Me: /frantically tightening head/ Ah, for fuck's sake.
Bodhrán: Perhaps you could pound at your chair instead.
Translation: my bodhrán was loose and floppy and gave me fits for three hours this afternoon. I was spoilt by my previous one, Mallory, who seemed impervious to the air round her. This one...isn't. The slightest hint of damp in the air renders her bleeding unconscious. She's a kangaroo by birth, thus she'd likely be happier in a desert.
Erm...alright, I thought too long about that last bit and now I'm slightly disturbed by it. I mean, I know that many bodhráns are made, in part, out of things that are dead, but...sure, I'm thinking too hard on it now.
At any rate, this was the sort of seisiun in which I confess I breathed a sigh of relief when somebody else made a mistake - safety in numbers sort of thing. I'm coming to internalise that it happens - even to the really experienced players, and nobody's descended from on high to smite them out of existence, so.
So an amusing thing happened today. The seisiun time today was a bit earlier than usual, so as is my wont I'd been fretting about arriving on time. When I'm accustomed to something happening at a specific time, I often fall into a sort of...I don't know how to describe it, but I sort of switch off and let the corpus find its own way there sort of thing. So when something changes, I've really got to pay attention - or at least I convince myself I do. At any rate, when I walked into the pub, I noticed that nobody of us was there but for myself. Ken had warned me that perhaps something could change, and as I'd been out most of last night, I got nervous and phoned him.
Trinity Hall is a noisy place - it merely is. That's part of its character, the noise. The space in front of Trinity Hall is a noisy place as well. Thus, I thought it really unlikely that I'd heard Ken utter the word 'asshole' in the midst of disjointed (again noise and two mobiles) little chat. I thought to myself 'sure, he never said that - 'cos why should he do? I never phoned him to ask an entirely stupid question'. He assured me that nothing had changed, I went back inside, and fought with the WIFI network there for entirely too long.
A few moments later, Ken wanders in under the weight of his gear ('s the trouble with people who play more than one instrument - you've only two hands ever, have you? This shite's bleeding heavy), and I think that perhaps I should be helping him to set us up rather than pissing about on the Internet. So I do.
He pauses for a moment, looks and me and says 'did I say anything...bad to you when you phoned'? I started to laugh and said 'you might have done'. I honestly thought I'd misheard him what with the ambient din (and his usually tidy speech), but no. Something had happened on his drive to the pub that moved him to curse at another driver. He realised when he rang off with me that 'asshole' was the likely the last thing I'd heard him say.
Good times. :D
(Right, so if you know him - don't tell him I wrote about it in my blog, please?)