The ultimate smokey drinkey

I got a lot done these past few weeks while blogging has been light. Mrs Bucko and myself did takes some time out from work though, when we got invited to a party. I don't know why but we seem to get invited to all the best parties :-)

Darwen is a town of bands and musicians, of which there are many. There is a good live music scene among the local pubs. It turns out that one of these local musicians holds a party at his house every year for his daughters birthday.

The house is a simple terrace, but the back yard goes on for quite a distance. It's about twice as long as your standard terraced house backyard.

At the end of the yard he's build a covered area with a stage where bands can play. He also put up an awning covering the yard for the party.

All the local bands and singers get together, get drunk and play.

It was quite an amazing do. A large selection of live music, many guests crammed in like sardines, plenty of smokers and non-smokers all getting along, and none of it done under the ever watchful eyes of the state.

Take a look at these:

What a bloody go do. I can't believe you can hold such a good gig in a terraced house. We wouldn't stand a chance in ours. We are looking forward to next years installment.

I bought some cowboy boots today. Check these out:

I've always wanted a pair of cowboy boots, but now I'm not so sure. They're bloody difficult to walk in. If I fall over this evening, it won't be because of the booze. (much).

I do have a cowboy hat aswell, but that's my drumming hat. I certainly won't be wearing that in public.

I've just remembered, I have a story about boots. When I was about nineteen, I went to stay at a friends house in Burnley one weekend night. The intention was just to stay at his flat and have a few scoops, but by late evening, when we had far too many scoops we decided it would be a good idea to go to a nightclub.

As we never planned on going out, I was wearing trainers so we would never have got past the bouncers. My mate tried to lend me some shoes, but as he is a couple of sizes smaller than me, the only ones he had that would fit were a pair of steel toe cap boots with the toe cap on the outside.

He came up with the genius suggestion that we paint over the toe caps with a bit of black paint. When we had a look in his crap store, all he had was white paint.

We painted the entire boots in white gloss.

It made perfect sense at the time.

After we had given the boots half an hour to dry and had a few more scoops, we called a taxi and went outside to wait for it, me wearing the brilliant white work boots. (not a bad paint job I might add. Highly visible in darkness but I could have been run over by a snow plough in the daylight.)

That taxi never turned up, and as it had gotten so late, we gave it up as a bad job and went to bed.

We agreed the following day that we had never been so grateful for a taxi not turning up.

The things that make sense after beer, never cease to boggle.

Enjoy your evening :-)


Monty Cristo said...

Paul said...

Bucko said...

Longrider said...

Bucko said...