Grandparents and Pic n' Mix

Most suicides take place on a Tuesday, there is a reason for that, Wednesdays.

Wednesdays, that deathly, pregnant, mid week pause has always been the red headed step child of the week. Too far from both weekends to be loved by anyone, the mid point on the incline of the rollercoasters ratcheted rise before the g-force induced smiling descent that is the weekend.

My grandfather knew how to take the sting out of mid week. We would go to Woolies (RIP), and as I stood in front of the pic n’mix he would plunge the shop into darkness by throwing the firemans switch outside, thirty seconds later after grubbing around in the blackness I had a bag full of mystery confectionary, and as the fluorescents and tills blinked back to life under the gaze of underpaid and apathetic staff, I parted with my payment and faced the sunshine.

Back home the bag was opened and shared. Of course there were too few of the ones that everyone (dentures aside) loved –chocolate éclairs, Bensons blackcurrant and liquorish- a fair few of the universal favorites-Black Jacks, pineapple cubes and Everton mints (Newcastle mints surely?)- and then there were the ones you couldn’t believe anyone would make as sweets in the first place. They tasted like Benylin and ear wax, smelt like a marsupials pouch, (Yes I do, I still have the letter from Lord Bath banning me for life from the Wallaby enclosure at Longleat), and had the texture of a ball bearing covered in belly button fluff. Even the dog wouldn’t entertain the idea of an experimental lick. And we all know dogs are not known for being fussy in the licking department. They sat at the bottom of the bag uneaten, unloved and misunderstood. Still, as Grandma would say, ‘Someone must like them? It would be a boring world if we were all the same.’

Very true, and the biggest strength of our beloved Rumney Folk Club. Its musical pic n’ mix. The broadest appreciation of what ‘folk’ music is, with none of the ‘folk fascism’ that plagues some clubs and stagnates us all. Musicians everybody loves, old favorites we all enjoy, the odd new hidden gem you never heard (tasted) before that wows you, and the ones at the bottom of the bag that it wouldn’t be the same without. We need them all because we are not just another folk club, and it would be a boring world if we were all the same.


Happy plucking y’all,

Midge Noone