(Not) A Lad & Dad Night
Spookiness, lad and dads
It’s been a funny week in more than one sense of the word. I’ve not laughed so much on a bus for a long while when last Monday I was on a 17 back from town. I’d been watching the potentially interesting (it was) Leicester v Everton match (it finished 2-2). I bumped into a few people, including a Canadian couple, and a couple of local guys who have similar interests: music, ale, festivals, and football and the like. One of them I’d met a couple of times before and we carried on talking about ale, music festivals, books and writing. Well all sorts really.
Homeward bound we carried on the chit-chat on the bus (he lives around half way along my bus route). Part way into the journey a young fella (twenties, I guess) sat on seats across the great divide leant into our conversation as it veered between writing and music. He came to the conclusion (understandably) that we were talking about songwriting (we were not). It turns out he is a guitarist and writes his own songs sometimes. I asked whether he ever did open mics and if so he should try the Dizzy. He said yes he has a few times, including the Dizz. Apparently he was told he couldn’t play there when he went ‘as they don’t allow covers.’ That made me laugh, as I only ever do covers (even if they are not well known ones). I suspected from the way he was talking that there was something else behind the reason he was stopped, or discouraged, from playing - which may or may not have had something to do with mates and/or drunkenness. It wasn’t clear.
Anyway, as the conversation between the three of us continued it took an hilarious turn when the fella asked us if we were on a ‘lad and dad’ night out - I think he’s only about 12 or 13 years older than me. Much laughter ensued and every comment, question and bit of banter subsequently was explained by my occasional drinking buddy being me dad. Who knew!?
Later in the week I was delivering some ale to a place that requires a password to drive out. I asked what it was and it turned out to be 1968. ‘A good number.’ I suggested. The guy who’d let me into the cellar agreed. ‘I was born in ‘68.’ I said. So was he apparently. ‘Hey Jude was No.1.’ He said. ‘That’s spooky, me too.’ Etc etc. Anyway, it turned out that not only were we born in the same year, we were born on the exact same bloody day. That was some spooky shit. And laughter again ensued.
He looked quite a bit older than me and I’d never have thought he were born in the same year yet alone the same day. Not quite in lad & dad territory though. To be fair when I’d arrived he was having a fag break. And in hindsight that there explains it. Just don’t smoke people. It ages ya. It truly does.
I’ll never be able to go on a real lad and dad day again. But maybe I’ll be on some more ‘could be lad & dad’ days. These events are evidently outside of my control.
It’s been a funny week in more than one sense of the word. I’ve not laughed so much on a bus for a long while when last Monday I was on a 17 back from town. I’d been watching the potentially interesting (it was) Leicester v Everton match (it finished 2-2). I bumped into a few people, including a Canadian couple, and a couple of local guys who have similar interests: music, ale, festivals, and football and the like. One of them I’d met a couple of times before and we carried on talking about ale, music festivals, books and writing. Well all sorts really.
Homeward bound we carried on the chit-chat on the bus (he lives around half way along my bus route). Part way into the journey a young fella (twenties, I guess) sat on seats across the great divide leant into our conversation as it veered between writing and music. He came to the conclusion (understandably) that we were talking about songwriting (we were not). It turns out he is a guitarist and writes his own songs sometimes. I asked whether he ever did open mics and if so he should try the Dizzy. He said yes he has a few times, including the Dizz. Apparently he was told he couldn’t play there when he went ‘as they don’t allow covers.’ That made me laugh, as I only ever do covers (even if they are not well known ones). I suspected from the way he was talking that there was something else behind the reason he was stopped, or discouraged, from playing - which may or may not have had something to do with mates and/or drunkenness. It wasn’t clear.
Anyway, as the conversation between the three of us continued it took an hilarious turn when the fella asked us if we were on a ‘lad and dad’ night out - I think he’s only about 12 or 13 years older than me. Much laughter ensued and every comment, question and bit of banter subsequently was explained by my occasional drinking buddy being me dad. Who knew!?
Later in the week I was delivering some ale to a place that requires a password to drive out. I asked what it was and it turned out to be 1968. ‘A good number.’ I suggested. The guy who’d let me into the cellar agreed. ‘I was born in ‘68.’ I said. So was he apparently. ‘Hey Jude was No.1.’ He said. ‘That’s spooky, me too.’ Etc etc. Anyway, it turned out that not only were we born in the same year, we were born on the exact same bloody day. That was some spooky shit. And laughter again ensued.
He looked quite a bit older than me and I’d never have thought he were born in the same year yet alone the same day. Not quite in lad & dad territory though. To be fair when I’d arrived he was having a fag break. And in hindsight that there explains it. Just don’t smoke people. It ages ya. It truly does.
I’ll never be able to go on a real lad and dad day again. But maybe I’ll be on some more ‘could be lad & dad’ days. These events are evidently outside of my control.
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