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Location: London, United Kingdom

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Greetings blogwatchers, this is producer George at the village telegraph machine. La-di-dah Londoners Lucky Soul have now decamped to my studio here in the sticks. They haven't managed a post here since arriving, mainly because they've been going great guns recording vocals and guitars. But also, there is, understandably, great demand for the village telegraph machine, first of all Farmer Scruggins was on for ages, searching the interweb for a spare wheel bearing for his rather worn horse-drawn plough. Then the vicar was looking up 14th century quotes about other religions as inspiration for Sunday's sermon. Anyway, I digress. Apart from making great recordings (despite Andrew's well-disguised sleep deprivation symptoms due to the late night before coming), Andrew and Ali have been making regular visits to their friendly local host at the B&B farmhouse, who has been notable by his absence from the premises, some several furlongs from the village. Here is a pic of the band's intended accommodation:
Unfortunately, despite three visits there yesterday, Mr Mawle the farmer failed to materialise to let them in, so a rather weary Andrew slept on the studio floor and covered himself with acoustic treatment, whilst Ali made it upstairst to the luxury padded spare room. Her peaceful slumber was, unfortunately rather short-lived, as my three year old daughter Producerette insisted on a ballet-dancing demonstration before heading off to playgroup. Happily, Mr Mawle's brother Fred (also a farmer) dropped keys off for the B&B this afternoon, although he was unsure which of the 18 bedrooms were intended for the guests, so there is a good chance that as I type upon my return from delivering them to the farmhouse that they are barging into sleeping German tourists' bedrooms. Neither bandmember could face beheading the chicken acquired for them by Mrs Producer George, so both evenings have been spent by firing up the old Bentley and heading into town fo the acquisition of pizzas ("pop music on bread") with a pint of Bad Trousers (no, really!) over the road at The Bell whilst waiting for them (the pizzas, that is) to be stone baked. In the morning I go back to my normal job of village taxi driver, and - perm my pubes! - you wouldn't believe it, but my first clients are a certain Andrew and Ali who have booked me to take them to the railway station. Andrew heads to the Welsh valleys to visit Dave the String for a primer regarding arrangements for scrapers and tootlers, whilst Ali heads for the sanctity of the commuter belt somewhere south of London to recuperate after her countryside adventure.

Toodle Pip!


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