Party Time

Today was the party for some people called A Casual Stroll to Mordor which is, if you ask me, a name that is just asking for trouble. Personally, if I was going to Mordor, which I'm not, it wouldn't be a casual stroll. Maybe that's just me.

Be that as it may, the Fairgrounds were the scene of the party which was celebrating the Mordor people's second birthday, or some such thing. I didn't actually see anybody called Casual Stroll to Mordor, and I didn't notice any kinship called (in short) CSTM, and nobody said anything to me about CSTM, so I was left all just a little puzzled as to where CSTM came in, but it was a great Lonely Mountain Band party, that's for sure. Who needs a Casual Stroll to Mordor when you've got the Lonely Mountain Band?!

It was BBB's lucky night (BBB stands for Bards, Beers, Beards and Beor's Bagpipes. Beor can't count.). Beor couldn't be there, so we could perform without having to watch his waggling beard and horse-arse face. Or listen to his pipes. This has to be a good thing.

Instead, we were joined by the Wacky Buggerydoos,  Irdu on something, Inzingagger on theorbo, Loryswine (or some such name) and the unforgettable Ashmara doing her usual stint on the drums. I was hoping that the lovely lady Wrenaya would join us as well, as she had thought she might (she is an excessively talented lute player), but I was doomed to disappointment there, as she was notably absent.

We were - I kid you not - super cool. Aegthil and the Aegthilettes.



If I had been sensible enough to take a picture I could have put one here, but I wasn't so I can't. Actually, it's my Fool's job to draw the pictures, so this is yet another example of his total incompetence. I should probably try and get another Fool, but I'm not sure that would be a trivial process. Nevertheless, someone in CSTM drew a picture, and I'm cheeky enough to use it. As you can see above, we were quite stunning. Handsome me in the middle, surrounded by my Aegthilettes, with the Buggerydoos out the front. Very nice.

Now, the music might have been fine (which it was), and I might have been super handsome (which I was) and the cheering crowds might have stamped and yelled praise (which they should have) but the real event of note was an unwanted insight into Ashmara's love life.

As always, she played the drums. Of course, I know, and my Fool knows, and everybody who is anybody knows, that the drummer gets the girls. (My Fool is not a drummer, but obviously this is not the reason he doesn't get the girls; no girl would ever be desperate enough to take up with my Fool. He has not even the basic charms, being old, fat, ugly and smelly.)

But back to Ash. Oh, said I, you're on drums, you'll get the chicks. (I have a natural facility with such cool phrases as that.) Hope so, said Ash, it's been a dry spell.

I just about dropped my cowbell.

In the experience of my Fool it is a common band practice to try and sabotage a performance by telling foul and obscene jokes to each other, while playing. If the music falls to pieces because the band are all laughing so much they wet their pants, this is counted as a success. He remembers one notable occasion when a Martha Stewart joke caused a total stoppage, and complaints from the client.

This was one of those times. I almost wet my pants.