*Contains adult themes and material which some people may find offensive*
Date: Saturday 26th October 2019
Location: Sheffield
Specifically: Halloween Ball, Sheffield City Hall
So - I am expected to write in a humorous way, because readers/viewers? - what on earth are people who read blogs called? - wish to be entertained. Except that today I don't feel very entertaining, today I feel like crap. Best way around this - skip the rubbish and get on to the good stuff.
OK - rubbish, rubbish, rubbish, crap, crap, crap.........the end!!!
And it's onwards to Sheffield City Hall and the Halloween Ball (there's a song there somewhere). Not particularly looking forward to driving around Sheffield City Centre in the evening now that the nights are drawing in especially in view of a comment I received yesterday to the effect that parking in Sheffield was nigh on impossible. Why do I listen to these people?
As it turns out it was easy peasy. I rang the city hall, spoke to the stage and events manager who told me it was fine to park outside the city hall. Guessed as much to be honest, I mean this is a major venue for artists and the area outside is usually filled with massive trucks carrying sound and lighting equipment - I particulalrly love the ones that have 'STAGE - TRUCK' on the side. Geddit? Stage Truck? go on say it quicker - Stage Struck!! Ho Ho - ah bollox then.
I rolled up outside the city hall, hopped out, approached the stage door and gave my best beatific smile to a slab of concrete standing in front of it. It spoke - surprisingly - so I returned his "good evening sir" with a greeting of my own (though in a somewhat higher pitched voice than his) and went inside.
First thing - find out where I am and what I'm supposed to be doing. Not as easy as it sounds actually. Yes, yes alright - not as easy as it sounds for ME then. Smart arses..... Really not sure how much of the next few minutes I should share actually - do you really want to know about how many times I can lose my way in a carriage that only goes up or down?, how many feet there are to trip over in a corridor wide enough to accomadate Donald Trumps ego? or how many times you can enter through a doorway only to discover that someone perched on a small porcelan seat with their tighty whities round their ankles is probaly not rehearsing for Macbeth. Share it? Bloody nightmare so I'm not going to bother. Suffice it to say I got my gear in, found my assigned pitch (very nice solid oak table at the side of the food counter - thank you I'll take it ta very much!) and set about getting myself organised!
INTERVAL
OK here’s something you can do. Learn a new word - not just any old word but a word that will make you popular in any social situation where humour is essential like; parties, weddings, public executions or pole vaulting into Afghanistan.
Todays word is ‘coddiwompling‘ - credit to my friend Jacquie for posting it on Facebook along with the definition which is......
.....’To travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.‘
How come I didn’t know about that!? Story of my life - especially now! Even if you haven’t got a clue where you’re going pretend that you have. Makes you look confident and purposeful, more of a soul man than a dole man, more of a worker than a shirker and more of a banker than someone who‘s lazy.
I’ll leave it with you!!!
What is it about certain people and motorhomes? Why do they feel the need to openly criticise, often loudly and usually within ear shot of at least one Motorhome?
Having got organised for the Halloween Ball, I returned to my moho to get changed and grab a bite to eat. Sure enough it wasn’t long before the moho moaners came out. I had just got changed when I heard several loud bangs as someone pounded on my moho with their hands (or fists) shouting “c’mon wake up, wake up, get out of bed, no sleeping, it’s Friday“ - given that today was Saturday it shows how bright he was.
Returning to the ballroom I pass a group of people who I had seen earlier clearly discussing my moho, and from the looks on their faces I’m sensing that the comments were not complimentary. Now as I passed they stood in silence, gazing about them with a purpose but finding nothing to focus on. Like a waiting room full of people scheduled for a lumbar puncture.
Then again going down in the lift. Guy says to his friend “someone out there has a Motorhome what’s that all about then?” Well I don’t know exactly, let’s see, it-is-a-motor and it-is-also-a-home. Hmmm struggling here to think what that could be all about why don’t you ask him he’s stood right in front of you? Jesus H Christ Mingling with Mingers in Manchester - the fuck is wrong with people!?
Funnily enough just got a message from a friend who tells me he’s going to see a chum this evening. He then asks what I’m doing!? As if I have infinite options. I tell him “Why I’m holding a dinner dance where I will be entertaining 600 guests, later I will accompany those who require it on a tour of the grounds, including a stroll round the gardens a visit to the stables and concluding with aperitifs inside the 375 square feet marquee on the lawn!
I arrive at the city hall early enough to have everything in place ready for the start of the Halloween ball; stock is on display, everything is priced, I am suitably attired - I have even photographed my displays for future reference!
Nothing to do now but wait.
At 8.30 p.m. when the event began I couldn't help but notice some obvious changes. For one thing there was a wide age range (a positive change!) - everyone from teenagers to a few who looked quite elderly. I had always believed that anyone over the age of 35 didn't go within a mile of a club for fear of beng regarded as a; dirty old man who thought they would have success in picking up young girls just for wearing a shirt unbuttoned to the waist (ewwwwww), a medallion (impact intensified by gluing an old rug onto their chests) and combing the three remaining hairs on their head over to the side to create the illsion of a full head of hair (it failed miserably).
Although it’s early days - still only about 9.00 pm I am not feeling optimistic . I did a venue similar to this a few months ago - as in bar, music, food - it was not very good. I was getting the same feeling here. I had been told that the previous year around 600/700 people attended. That did not seem like a lot to me. I‘ll cut to the end - it was a financial disaster. An experiment that failed.
On my way out at the end of the evening, after I had manoeuvre my way through an assault course of; friends saying goodbye to each other - oblivious to traders trying to move heavy boxes, people sat on the floor with their legs sprawled out making it difficult to get past and a 6’6” alien who got in the way of anyone greater than the width of a pipe cleaner.
Business 0/10 but socially 10/10! because the evening turned out to be amazing. Courtesy of contingent from the Doncaster Steampunk group - Tina and Paul, Donna and Nick and Rachael. It was fortunate they were there - had they not been I think I would have slipped into unconsciousness from sheer boredom. Bless you guys - you are all wonderful!
Now it's been a while since I went to any sort of event that might be termed - a dance. So you'll excuse me if my memory is a bit foggy - but heres what I recall. People who went to dances tended to be between the ages of 20-35 for men and from 13 - 25 for females - because the supervisors (colq. bouncers) would give blokes a severe grilling about their age if they had reasons to believe they were under 18 (reasons in those days tended to be, if you were a bit baby faced (my problem), not white enough, looked a bit stupid or had a face like the inside of a dishwashers bin bag). They didn't really give a stuff about the age of girls - girls were very nice to look at, didn't generally cause trouble and bought the boys in (although girls might be considered underage if they had flabby legs, wore glasses or had tits like button mushrooms.
There was a dress code - men were expected to wear a suit (or at least jacket and trousers), and tie and have decent shoes. If you turned up in trainers and/or jeans (heaven forbid) you were a drunkard, a thug and came from Rotherham and therefore more likely to go around; getting drunk, eating the beer glasses, being sick on peoples shoes, grabbing small men by their throats and asking "did you spill my pint?" and showing their arse on the dance floor. For girls - they didn't give a stuff "Oh dear hand me down clothing and no shoes darlin? No problem lovey - in you go".
But one thing that did take me by surprise was that clothing seemed to be optionaI - I was glad to see the back of the stupid suit and tie thing but I had always believed people would be able to get away with at least smart/casual. Here it seemed like a sizeable number of the punters were not wearing anything or at least as good as.
Skirts that barely covered underwear (on the odd ocassions the owner was wearing any - not that I noticed, I mean I wasn't looking that closely a...bu.....oh bollox (!), bare botties on show all over the place - not that I was looki.......oh don't start that again! , people lying half naked in the corridor, breasts swinging freely liberated from the bra that must have literally been burned in the 60s and performers changing in an open area the length of the lane in a bowling alley (which is actually not a bad place for a cornucopia of excessive ballast). Mein Gott in Himmel - a sure sign of old age.
And to conclude this post - the person who saved me from going bananas, kept me entertained, flirted shamelessly (with me fortunately), did wonderful PR for my stuff and was just an all round star - my dear friend Rachael.
Thank you sweetie - love you loads!
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