(or . . . . . . . the view from under the gang plank)
I’ve booked the Renfrew Ferry, an’ I’ve paid them several hunner,
But the lad whose gettin’ merried there, his intended’s done a runner.
So what to do, Oh what to do, I’ll no get that money back,
If I don’t think of something quick, the wife’ll gie me flak.
But there’s the seed, the tiny notion, growing in my brain,
Perhaps, . . . . . . just maybe, all that money’s no goin’ doon the drain.
I’ll call up Bert an’ Leslie. For this idea might just fly,
We’ll put Dalmallyfest aboard, an I don’t have to die.
We’ll get the word roon, quick as poss, The Richard’s both replied,
An’ see who’s up for another fest of music on the Clyde.
We’ll raise a golden glowing star, atop the weather vane,
It’ll be a beacon for the faithful to gather once again.
With luck, they’ll come, from ‘cross the land, on the Dalmallyfest commute,
Not by horses or by camel, but by buses, trains, on foot.
They won’t bring gifts of Frankincense or Myrrh, . . . . . . . . . . not even Gold,
But Geetars, Drums and Waashboards, for this night has been foretold.
And so we’ll play the ferry, as a half year get together,
We’ll book the usual bands, won’t even worry ‘bout the weather.
The Ferry folk can do the stage, the sound, the lights, the grub,
We’ll simply turn up, plug and play, it’ll be our private pub.
They turned up in the hunners, from across the land they came.
For Lucky Dog and Somethin’ Else, Tergazzi and No Shame.
For Devils, Sons and Vizzitors, Viragoes, Ian Glen,
All aboard the Renfrew Ferry, all on form again.
T’was nice to keep oor togs quite clean, & nice to not eat mud,
My chips stayed free from twigs and grass, my tent was not in flood.
The bands, well well, what can I say. They all were quite sublime,
Lady Gaga on a washboard, and that may have been a crime.
We had metal, metal everywhere, and not a ballad played,
Except the songsters at the start, and of the highest grade.
Chicago Blues and British too, rock classics through the night,
A man in a kilt wi’ his arse hangin’ out. That really was a sight.
Originals were played as well, the best songs on the boat,
All introduced with such aplomb. “here’s another song I wrote”.
The back stage ryder, it was there. M and M’s for tunes
My raving demands all were met and someone ate the broons.
We danced our feckin’ legs off, we laughed, got drunk and yelled,
We managed to behave ourselves, nobody was expelled.
Before we knew what time it was, eight hours had passed us by,
Another round of hugs ensue, it’s time to say goodbye.
To all our finest pals, we may see now twice a year,
For music, fun and laughs and a pail or three of beer.
I wandered home drunk like a monkey, fast asleep by 5.00,
And up next day by crack of noon, just glad to be alive.
A round of thanks required now, for the team of B. L. T.
That’s Bert, Lesley and Tony, and I’m sure you will agree.
They pulled it off and it was ace, and fun was had by all,
So roll on D’fest 17, we’ll have another ball.
As usual post Dalmally, I’m a week upon the wagon,
No more whisky, beer or gin, and no more chase the dragon.
No more staying up past 9.00, and no more plates of chips,
And no more cheesy burgers, not a-one shall pass my lips.
Of self-restraint and abstinence, a paragon I’ll be,
From now until it’s Wiston time, we’ll to the borders flee.
Right, Okay, I know it’s bull, I’ll try to do my best,
By Thursday I’ll try beer again, I’ll hope to pass the test.
So roll on August twenty ten, roll on Dalmallyfest,
We’ll see each other once again, but much less cleanly dressed.
We’ll trot the bog and sling the mud, we’ll neck the cooking sherry,
We’ll reminisce and fondly think, of our night upon the Ferry.
Ahoy !
WBM. 2010
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 