Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Friday night, eight oclock and another interminable trip around the Oberwald is driving me insane. Someone famous whose name I forget once wrote:
“Time flies by when you’re the driver of a train and I ride on the footpath there and back again”
I am not sure who it was, but a few weeks riding the rails that I have had to endure these past few Fridays would see a version by Leonard Cohen, the introduction of a few minor chords to infer melancholy and emphasise a desire to get off the F*****g footplate and get on with life!
Fortunately I have an escape, and with the dance deservedly won by Abbey, despite a concerted media campaign by Susanna I currently have the music in me. The soothing tones of Sheena Easton singing “Giving up Giving in” currently feeds through my headphones and helps counter the Friday night riot of life on the Swiss rails as I ponder tomorrows night’s singing competition. Sitting over there with his bottle of Theakston’s Unpredictable and a bowl of pickled onions to hand taking in the fine detail of another jaunt up the Jungfrau he occasionally glances my way and If my lip reading serves me correctly mutters “living the dream” My occasional hand claps to Sheena’s bass baritone probably convey the message that I too am living the Friday night dream.
I am not.
Tonight should have been the final night of “Hair..........in all the wrong places” a musical by our local Saga amateur dramatic society. Rehearsals had gone well. The nudity had been cut from the original script much to the consternation of an easy living group with ideas beyond their station, who regularly gathered in the local drinking emporia to take in England football matches. Emboldened by England’s recent qualification for next year’s world cup in Rio Di Janeiro, they hatched a plan over a succession of Dubonnet and lemonades to include a tribute to the team somewhere during the production.
And now I am alone, the train did not make its destination climbing high on its rack and pinions (good grief how much of this programme have I absorbed) power was lost mid Alp.
Our power, not the Swiss power,
Holey cheese munchers far too efficient for that.
“You should cut yon bloody hidge then ya southern bampot”
So I am left here to recap some of the singers from the first two episodes of The Voice. I don’t understand how the old guy from the North West was not picked as he out Bubled the Buble and Kylie seems a little over eager with the buzzer. I like William’s singers and his selections always seem a little more considered, although Tom Jones seems to have been at the Testosterone pills again, with his first five singers all young and female. I am sure I heard him say sotto voce to Kylie:
“I don’t know what’s going on so I don’t, All I got’s tail,.....Huuh!
Did I tell you I met Elvis”
It’s not the same as the dancing but it gets me through the week.
“ I’ll name that tune in one............ Marvin Gaye, got to give it up”
Flustered I told him to not be so stupid, how could he possibly know what I was listening to. To which he replied,
“Ok, I may be wrong but I don’t think I am, you look like a trained dancer (ok he didn’t say that) and nobody walks like that to S Club 7”
As I stalked off, dragging the dog away from what turned out to be a sexy lady Weimaraner I clicked my ipod on from Marvin Gaye to something a little less bouncy.
Oh great, Sky’s back on. Now do I send message to Gondor to let my Legolas know that the battle is won, or do I turn over and take in a bit of Phil and Kirsty,
Now where are they this week.................