When the Wheels Come Down
I have to tell you about Dave. Not my brother Dave - you know about him already if you've been reading these adventures and keeping notes. I'm referring of course to the other Dave - the one who procures a wadge of tickets for rugby internationals in exchange for spending half his spare time volunteering at his local club and tells me to stand outside my house and wait to be collected on the evening before the game. On such evenings we will head just past Plymouth to Gareth's house where we will always have a Chinese takeaway before heading to Twickenham the next morning. Dave and Gareth have been doing this in metronome like fashion since they were teenagers in 1972. Greater quantities of beer than I'm used to or are good for me are generally involved. It's a routine I always look forward to, even though I'm a lifelong football nut and only have the vaguest grasp on what's going on in between those strange H shaped posts during the big match. Somehow I've been inveigled into their gang by stealth. I feel like the slightly younger clueless looking one on "Last of the Summer Wine." Apologies if you're not from the UK or you're under 45 as that last statement isn't going to mean anything to you.
Dave likes music as well. Because he's twelve years older than me he's seen all the bands I love the most. He was there to see the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Keith Moon and John Bonham before they succumbed to their excesses. Just recently he shared with me a poster from the Bath Blues and Rock festival of 1970 where he saw among others, Led Zeppelin, Santana and Pink Floyd. Gareth usually went with him to events such as this so I tend to get the stories in stereo to make me even more envious of their superior vintages. Sometimes I wish he just wouldn't tell me stuff like this. I was only 4 and my parents wouldn't have let me go anyway. Besides which I hadn't fully familiarised myself with all of their albums at that stage. I was still busy getting to grips with Bill and Ben.
Dave is a useful person to know, but at the same time I've become accustomed to knowing that his call will result in substantial amounts of open wallet surgery, in exchange for which I will be entertained. One day he told me to book a long weekend because we were off to see the Foo Fighters at the Olympic Stadium in London. Flights, accommodation, river trips and a Billy Idol concert the following night in Brixton cost me the price of a decent second hand L lens, but it was three days I won't forget in a hurry.
Two days later, with a head full of tunes and a soul full of memories from as fantastic weekend as it's possible to achieve with two men in their mid 60's, I looked outside the window as the plane came in to land at Newquay. The sky was doing beautiful things and I was stuck in the air. I sighed as I gazed at an intense orange sunset through the plate glass window.
So the following evening, Lee, Dave - my brother Dave this time - and I headed to Bedruthan and watched the sun disappear behind a bank of cloud in an unpromising sky. We looked at each other doubtfully and groaned about having missed the previous evening. But as in the song, just as you think it's all over and you're about to head for the pub, something happens in the sky and suddenly it was all worthwhile. Well those aren't the exact words to the song but, you know.....
When the Wheels Come Down
I have to tell you about Dave. Not my brother Dave - you know about him already if you've been reading these adventures and keeping notes. I'm referring of course to the other Dave - the one who procures a wadge of tickets for rugby internationals in exchange for spending half his spare time volunteering at his local club and tells me to stand outside my house and wait to be collected on the evening before the game. On such evenings we will head just past Plymouth to Gareth's house where we will always have a Chinese takeaway before heading to Twickenham the next morning. Dave and Gareth have been doing this in metronome like fashion since they were teenagers in 1972. Greater quantities of beer than I'm used to or are good for me are generally involved. It's a routine I always look forward to, even though I'm a lifelong football nut and only have the vaguest grasp on what's going on in between those strange H shaped posts during the big match. Somehow I've been inveigled into their gang by stealth. I feel like the slightly younger clueless looking one on "Last of the Summer Wine." Apologies if you're not from the UK or you're under 45 as that last statement isn't going to mean anything to you.
Dave likes music as well. Because he's twelve years older than me he's seen all the bands I love the most. He was there to see the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Keith Moon and John Bonham before they succumbed to their excesses. Just recently he shared with me a poster from the Bath Blues and Rock festival of 1970 where he saw among others, Led Zeppelin, Santana and Pink Floyd. Gareth usually went with him to events such as this so I tend to get the stories in stereo to make me even more envious of their superior vintages. Sometimes I wish he just wouldn't tell me stuff like this. I was only 4 and my parents wouldn't have let me go anyway. Besides which I hadn't fully familiarised myself with all of their albums at that stage. I was still busy getting to grips with Bill and Ben.
Dave is a useful person to know, but at the same time I've become accustomed to knowing that his call will result in substantial amounts of open wallet surgery, in exchange for which I will be entertained. One day he told me to book a long weekend because we were off to see the Foo Fighters at the Olympic Stadium in London. Flights, accommodation, river trips and a Billy Idol concert the following night in Brixton cost me the price of a decent second hand L lens, but it was three days I won't forget in a hurry.
Two days later, with a head full of tunes and a soul full of memories from as fantastic weekend as it's possible to achieve with two men in their mid 60's, I looked outside the window as the plane came in to land at Newquay. The sky was doing beautiful things and I was stuck in the air. I sighed as I gazed at an intense orange sunset through the plate glass window.
So the following evening, Lee, Dave - my brother Dave this time - and I headed to Bedruthan and watched the sun disappear behind a bank of cloud in an unpromising sky. We looked at each other doubtfully and groaned about having missed the previous evening. But as in the song, just as you think it's all over and you're about to head for the pub, something happens in the sky and suddenly it was all worthwhile. Well those aren't the exact words to the song but, you know.....