Canadian Tour: Good Gigs #1

Lunenburg Folk Harbour Festival, Nova Scotia

This has to be one of our favourite festivals.

After the Fisheries gig we go and get some food at a little pub just on the edge of town. Fabulous food. I have Lunenburg Scallops, of course, because how can you be in Lunenburg and not have scallops, lightly cooked in garlic butter. Gods, but they're good. Debs laughs and says she feels like she's driving royalty because as we creep through the little town people spot us in the car and wave and mouth Hello Artisan at us and blow kisses. It's amazing. We've always been popular at Lunenburg, (the second time we played here we got a standing ovation as we walked ON to the main stage, before we'd sung a note, but it has been five years. We figured people would have short memories, but they haven't. There are some people who've driven up from Philadelphia to see us, because we're not playing in the States on this trip. Hey, we should have got a lift with them! There are others from close to Bethlehem, PA, who usually see us a Musikfest and have taken the opportunity to try a new festival just because we're here. It's flattering, and also humbling. These people have no idea what a boost they give us. We can't let it go to our collective head, but it's such a great experience.

Then we're delivered to our lodging, a bit further from the town centre than we'd like, but a lovely 1920s/1930s 'arts and crafts' house with some fabulous original oak panelling and overflowing hanging baskets all around the outside. There's a fabulous view across an inlet from the back deck. Our host, Les, is in the middle of an academic thesis so he smiles and welcomes us and goes back to work. We don't see much of him, but our hostess, Velvet, is welcoming and chatty. They have two small wire-haired dachsund bitches who are very sweet and who bark at us and then roll over to be tickled. It's lovely. I know Brian's missing Diezel dog - one of his big worries about spending three weeks out of the country was leaving my 85 year old mother with a ten-month old alpha German Shepherd to look after. (We offered to put him in kennels, but she wouldn't hear of it. They make 'em tough in Yorkshire!)

We have rooms upstairs. It's what we'd call a dormer bungalow in England, though it's huge and the upstairs has three big guest rooms. We have en-suite bathrooms tucked under the eaves of the house, and the beds are super comfy... only... there's no aircon and the heat in the house rises. Even with the windows open wide (insect screens in place) and the fans blowing a gale, there's not much relief from the brutal heatwave. Hilary's room isn't too bad by the time we fall into bed, but our bedroom gets the full glare of the evening sun and on the Thursday and Friday nights it's practically an oven, even long after dark, though Saturday and Sunday are a little cooler and fresher, thank goodness. Lunenburg is usually fairly fresh because of the sea breeze, so this humidity is unusual, but it's a killer!.

They pay us on Friday morning (yay) which bankrolls us for the tour. Yay!

I have Scallop-Only cakes at the Fishcake Cafe for lunch (over looking the harbour). Delicious, melt-in mouth sallopy goodness! The Friday afternoon gig is right down on the Wharf Stage. One misstep backwards and you're fifteen feet down into the water, so we take care to stay well forward. We've planned the sets so we don't have to repeat too much material over the weekend. Great crowd and we have lots of people coming up and telling us how glad they are we've come out of retirement. The CD stall does good business on our behalf. Though all our other CDs have been to Lunenburg before, Random Play, is brand new and is snapped up again and again. We discover that the eco-friendly cardboard slipcase is not Sharpie-friendly. It's a nightmare to sign. You can just about get a ball-point to stick to the glossy print as long as no one has touched the surface with a humanly-greasy finger first. Need a new miracle pen.

We play all the fesival stages over the course of the weekend. We've a workshop (a round-robin concert, really) called 'Lighten Up' with Connie Caldor and others in one of the churches. We choose to do songs that are a lighter way of looking at serious topics. We play the Bandstand - which is nice because it's a free, outdoor concert for the people of the town, as well as for the festival ticket holders. It's lovely that as we start off with Dancing With Words there's a little ripple of spontaneous applause as they recognise the song. I'm used to that (in North America at any rate) for songs like 'Breathing Space' and 'What's the Use of Wings', but not usually for 'Dancing With Words.' They like it. Good!

One slight disappointment. The Opera House which was scruffy, but genuinely Victorian and full of character (and wood-rot and myco-spores, probably), has been renovated. The renovation is kinda sympathetic, but it's still got a way to go. Right now it's got a lot more bare walls than it used to, and it's been opened up more. The sound bounces around without the benefit of plush wallpaper and drapes and worn carpet to tame the echo. It's not so nice to sing in and I bet it's nowhere near as easy for the sound man. But the audience is lovely, as usual and the set goes well.

Our mainstage set is Sunday night, not such a good spot for selling CDs (Saturday is a better mainstage showcase), but it's a fabulous audience. The mainstage is in a 1200-seater marquee and it's packed to the gills. We go on last before the interval. A spot we like because it means we can go out front in the break to talk to people. Thankfully the weather has stayed relatively benevolent, with much cooler evenings than Thursday and Friday. Even with the stage lights it's bearable. The PA feels great and it's one of those concerts that just seems to fly all by itself. We have 35 minutes, no encores allowed, and we get the standing ovation again. Good, we're not losing our touch.

Moving On

And the following morning we pack our bags and get a lift back to the airport for our flight to Toronto. We've booked with Westjet because they're a nice company with staff chosen for their sense of humour - and no more expensive than the other choice which is Air Canada which has sometimes seemed to specialise in grumpy stewardesses. Westjet lives up to its reputation, we end up singing 'Breathing Space' for staff at the check-in desk. The flight is blessedly on time. It's in in-country hop to Toronto, so no customs - which is good because we've now got the leftover CDs (which were shipped in) packed in our bags to take on to the next gigs.

We pick up our rental car and arrive at Nigel and Clarisse's house (longtime friends) by sometime shortly before 8.00 to find dinner waiting for us, the beds all made up, and more shipped CDs. It's delightful to see Nigel and Clarisse again. They're both looking well and there's kitchen remodelling to admire. Nigel has great woodworking skills, though he doesn't do so much since nearly taking his finger off in an accident and lately he's become totally absorbed by his outdoor fishpond and indoor aquarium in which he has a small ecosystem snaffled direct from Lake Huron. there are snails, rocks, plants and beetles that dive and rise by adjusting a tiny bubble of air on their bum. And there are tiny-weeny fish that will grow up to be lake-trout. It's better than TV.

Clarisse is - .like me - a Science Fiction and Fantasy reader and there's Bakka - Toronto's specialist SF bookstore - downtown. We make a pilgrimage. I only buy $130's worth of books, but Clarisse almost triples my total. It's been a while since she went, she says. I buy some authors discovered at random by browsing, such as Ilona Andrews and Nancy Kress. I buy regularly from Amazon at home, but I can't browse spines on a shelf to see what jumps out at me at Amazon. Hilary goes off window-shopping while Clarisse and I browse books, then we all indulge in a brief trip to The Eaton Centre at the bottom of Yonge Street. I'd been intending to go to the World's Biggest Bookstore, just nearby, but I've spent so much already that I really can't justify it. Besides, it's horribly humid again and my foot is really giving me grief. I buy a new carry-on size hard-shell suitcase (well I have to have something to carry my books in, don't I?) We get back to Clarisse's and - bless her - she finds me some stretches on the net to work on the plantar fasciitis. We go out for dinner, but my foot is still killing me and I've had so much sun that I feel a bit off-colour. While the others are tucking into steak and all the trimmings or big plates of fish, or BBQ pork, I nibble at a small Caesar Salad. It does me no harm whatsoever to eat lightly. I'm still munching my salad when they all get on to dessert, but never mind. I feel much better for it.

Canadian Tour: Good Gigs #1

Lunenburg Folk Harbour Festival, Nova Scotia

This has to be one of our favourite festivals.

After the Fisheries gig we go and get some food at a little pub just on the edge of town. Fabulous food. I have Lunenburg Scallops, of course, because how can you be in Lunenburg and not have scallops, lightly cooked in garlic butter. Gods, but they're good. Debs laughs and says she feels like she's driving royalty because as we creep through the little town people spot us in the car and wave and mouth Hello Artisan at us and blow kisses. It's amazing. We've always been popular at Lunenburg, (the second time we played here we got a standing ovation as we walked ON to the main stage, before we'd sung a note, but it has been five years. We figured people would have short memories, but they haven't. There are some people who've driven up from Philadelphia to see us, because we're not playing in the States on this trip. Hey, we should have got a lift with them! There are others from close to Bethlehem, PA, who usually see us a Musikfest and have taken the opportunity to try a new festival just because we're here. It's flattering, and also humbling. These people have no idea what a boost they give us. We can't let it go to our collective head, but it's such a great experience.

Then we're delivered to our lodging, a bit further from the town centre than we'd like, but a lovely 1920s/1930s 'arts and crafts' house with some fabulous original oak panelling and overflowing hanging baskets all around the outside. There's a fabulous view across an inlet from the back deck. Our host, Les, is in the middle of an academic thesis so he smiles and welcomes us and goes back to work. We don't see much of him, but our hostess, Velvet, is welcoming and chatty. They have two small wire-haired dachsund bitches who are very sweet and who bark at us and then roll over to be tickled. It's lovely. I know Brian's missing Diezel dog - one of his big worries about spending three weeks out of the country was leaving my 85 year old mother with a ten-month old alpha German Shepherd to look after. (We offered to put him in kennels, but she wouldn't hear of it. They make 'em tough in Yorkshire!)

We have rooms upstairs. It's what we'd call a dormer bungalow in England, though it's huge and the upstairs has three big guest rooms. We have en-suite bathrooms tucked under the eaves of the house, and the beds are super comfy... only... there's no aircon and the heat in the house rises. Even with the windows open wide (insect screens in place) and the fans blowing a gale, there's not much relief from the brutal heatwave. Hilary's room isn't too bad by the time we fall into bed, but our bedroom gets the full glare of the evening sun and on the Thursday and Friday nights it's practically an oven, even long after dark, though Saturday and Sunday are a little cooler and fresher, thank goodness. Lunenburg is usually fairly fresh because of the sea breeze, so this humidity is unusual, but it's a killer!.

They pay us on Friday morning (yay) which bankrolls us for the tour. Yay!

I have Scallop-Only cakes at the Fishcake Cafe for lunch (over looking the harbour). Delicious, melt-in mouth sallopy goodness! The Friday afternoon gig is right down on the Wharf Stage. One misstep backwards and you're fifteen feet down into the water, so we take care to stay well forward. We've planned the sets so we don't have to repeat too much material over the weekend. Great crowd and we have lots of people coming up and telling us how glad they are we've come out of retirement. The CD stall does good business on our behalf. Though all our other CDs have been to Lunenburg before, Random Play, is brand new and is snapped up again and again. We discover that the eco-friendly cardboard slipcase is not Sharpie-friendly. It's a nightmare to sign. You can just about get a ball-point to stick to the glossy print as long as no one has touched the surface with a humanly-greasy finger first. Need a new miracle pen.

We play all the fesival stages over the course of the weekend. We've a workshop (a round-robin concert, really) called 'Lighten Up' with Connie Caldor and others in one of the churches. We choose to do songs that are a lighter way of looking at serious topics. We play the Bandstand - which is nice because it's a free, outdoor concert for the people of the town, as well as for the festival ticket holders. It's lovely that as we start off with Dancing With Words there's a little ripple of spontaneous applause as they recognise the song. I'm used to that (in North America at any rate) for songs like 'Breathing Space' and 'What's the Use of Wings', but not usually for 'Dancing With Words.' They like it. Good!

One slight disappointment. The Opera House which was scruffy, but genuinely Victorian and full of character (and wood-rot and myco-spores, probably), has been renovated. The renovation is kinda sympathetic, but it's still got a way to go. Right now it's got a lot more bare walls than it used to, and it's been opened up more. The sound bounces around without the benefit of plush wallpaper and drapes and worn carpet to tame the echo. It's not so nice to sing in and I bet it's nowhere near as easy for the sound man. But the audience is lovely, as usual and the set goes well.

Our mainstage set is Sunday night, not such a good spot for selling CDs (Saturday is a better mainstage showcase), but it's a fabulous audience. The mainstage is in a 1200-seater marquee and it's packed to the gills. We go on last before the interval. A spot we like because it means we can go out front in the break to talk to people. Thankfully the weather has stayed relatively benevolent, with much cooler evenings than Thursday and Friday. Even with the stage lights it's bearable. The PA feels great and it's one of those concerts that just seems to fly all by itself. We have 35 minutes, no encores allowed, and we get the standing ovation again. Good, we're not losing our touch.

Moving On

And the following morning we pack our bags and get a lift back to the airport for our flight to Toronto. We've booked with Westjet because they're a nice company with staff chosen for their sense of humour - and no more expensive than the other choice which is Air Canada which has sometimes seemed to specialise in grumpy stewardesses. Westjet lives up to its reputation, we end up singing 'Breathing Space' for staff at the check-in desk. The flight is blessedly on time. It's in in-country hop to Toronto, so no customs - which is good because we've now got the leftover CDs (which were shipped in) packed in our bags to take on to the next gigs.

We pick up our rental car and arrive at Nigel and Clarisse's house (longtime friends) by sometime shortly before 8.00 to find dinner waiting for us, the beds all made up, and more shipped CDs. It's delightful to see Nigel and Clarisse again. They're both looking well and there's kitchen remodelling to admire. Nigel has great woodworking skills, though he doesn't do so much since nearly taking his finger off in an accident and lately he's become totally absorbed by his outdoor fishpond and indoor aquarium in which he has a small ecosystem snaffled direct from Lake Huron. there are snails, rocks, plants and beetles that dive and rise by adjusting a tiny bubble of air on their bum. And there are tiny-weeny fish that will grow up to be lake-trout. It's better than TV.

Clarisse is - .like me - a Science Fiction and Fantasy reader and there's Bakka - Toronto's specialist SF bookstore - downtown. We make a pilgrimage. I only buy $130's worth of books, but Clarisse almost triples my total. It's been a while since she went, she says. I buy some authors discovered at random by browsing, such as Ilona Andrews and Nancy Kress. I buy regularly from Amazon at home, but I can't browse spines on a shelf to see what jumps out at me at Amazon. Hilary goes off window-shopping while Clarisse and I browse books, then we all indulge in a brief trip to The Eaton Centre at the bottom of Yonge Street. I'd been intending to go to the World's Biggest Bookstore, just nearby, but I've spent so much already that I really can't justify it. Besides, it's horribly humid again and my foot is really giving me grief. I buy a new carry-on size hard-shell suitcase (well I have to have something to carry my books in, don't I?) We get back to Clarisse's and - bless her - she finds me some stretches on the net to work on the plantar fasciitis. We go out for dinner, but my foot is still killing me and I've had so much sun that I feel a bit off-colour. While the others are tucking into steak and all the trimmings or big plates of fish, or BBQ pork, I nibble at a small Caesar Salad. It does me no harm whatsoever to eat lightly. I'm still munching my salad when they all get on to dessert, but never mind. I feel much better for it.

Canadian Tour: Good Gigs #2

5th - 8th August: Lunenburg pics (see yesterday's post)

Hilary outside our billet at Lunenburg


Our friends Nigel and Clarisse in Toronto

11th August: Houseconcert, Toronto

For those not familiar with houseconcerts - these are a North American phenomenon where houses tend to have more open space than UK homes. Usually held on a midweek night as a filler between concert dates, the householder, invites people (and some concerts in larger houses seat 70 - 100 people depending on the place). It's basically a private party. There are no set ticket prices because that would mean the householder is using their home for commercial purposes which might invalidate insurance and contravene local bylaws, but there's a 'strongly recommended' donation of not less than $x, all of which goes to the performer. Visitors often bring food/cookies etc. to share, so there's a nibbles buffet, too. The householder gets an up-close-and-personal performance by his/her favourite performers and the performer fills an off-night and usually gets accommodation too. In this case we already have somewhere to stay, but the gig is still very welcome.

It's sold out well in advance. Full room. After a few fresh days on the coast at Lunenburg, the Toronto weather is once more excruciatingly hot and sticky, and with 40 people crammed in, the house is hot and sticky, too, even with the aircon on full. They leave the back door open for a bit of breeze, but unfortunately it lets in a mosquito. I'm A-grade mozzie-bait, and come up in huge purple welts if bitten, so every time it comes near me I'm dodging about. We try hard, but energy levels may be a little lower than usual because of the heat. I hope it doesn't show. The audience is clearly having a good time. Lovely to see so many friendly faces. Our host is David Warren who was the artistic director of Mariposa Festival and gave us our first ever gig in Canada back in 1994 when the event was briefly on Olympic Island in Toronto. There's Gord from the Flying Cloud, and Steve and Anne, and also Eileen who we met on our very first trip over. At least two people have come from the USA... just to see us... both travelling long distances. We are once again humbled.

Nigel and Clarisse come. Nigel brings his new digital video camera and films it all. Hopefully we'll be able to upload it somewhere before too much longer.

Plenty of shopping in Toronto from lowest common denominator places like Zellers, Dollarama and Wally-World (Wal-Mart) to the delightful independent shops and boutiques on Queen East at the Beaches. Brian gets jeans, jeans, jeans and more jeans. At that price how could he not? $14 for Wranglers - that's about £10. I get some new shirts and T-shirty, drapy things plus some of those rocker-shaped Scholl's sandals and a pair of purple sneakers. Hilary has a field-day in a fabulous little boutiquey shop on Queen, which has lots of floaty, drapey, baggy things in murky colours with asymmetrical hemlines and unusual tucks and shapes. OK, I confess, I bought one, too.

14th August: Aeolian Hall, London, Ontario

With Steve Ritchie and Al Parrish, lately from Tanglefoot, doing the opening spot for us this is a gig I'd have paid to do. The Aeolian is a privately owned concert hall, a fabulous building that was once London's town hall. We met up with Al and his son Ashton (age 8-ish) for dinner before the show, but Steve couldn't join us because he's recently got a more-than-full-time job doing technical stuff at the radio station in Owen Sound where he does his Thursday night 'Hundred Mile Music Show'. We stay for one night with Bill and Kenna and their granddaughter (and Sheltie dog) and then depart for Steve, Sharon and Connor's house in Chatsworth, just south of Owen Sound. More visiting, more shopping, both in Owen Sound, and a fascinating trip to Keady market - a huge outdoor cattle-market, farmers' market and general market which takes us 2 hours to walk around, there's so much to see (and buy).

18th August: Houseconcert, Grey Highlands Ontario

An amazing house, seemingly in the middle of nowhere (but not really). It always boggles me when some of Canada's highways are gravel rather than tarmac. I feel as though I'm going up a farm track - but no, they're real roads. Glad we've got directions, though. Apparently if you try and use a satnav it dumps you in the middle of the woods. We're fed royally before the gig and then perform in front of a huge, pointy picture window that looks out across woodlands. There are fans who've travelled up from Orangeville and neighbours who don't know us from Adam. A lovely mix. And Gord's here again.

Then there's just one more day to spend with the Ritchies before moving into the Travelodge, the hotel where all the performers stay for Summerfolk Festival at Owen Sound. Unfortunately I bend over to fold a shirt for my suitcase and feel my back go sproing. 'It's then I discover the delights of Robax (robaxicet) a muscle relaxant combined with various painkillers - in my case ibuprohen. It's not available over the counter in either the USA or the UK, but it's brilliant stuff. It stops my back from spasming in next to no time and lets it fix itself over the next few days. It even seems to help my foot. With that and the stretches from Clarisse (and a bit of careful planning) my foot isn't too bad over the course of the festival

20th - 22nd August: Summerfolk Festival, Owen Sound, Ontario




One of our favourite festivals. It's all contained on one site at Kelso Beach Park in Owen Sound, which fronts on to Georgian Bay, that part of Lake Huron that's like an ear-shape, separated form the main lake by the Bruce Peninsula. We played Summerfolk on our very first trip to Canada, some 16 years ago. Back then the lake came right up to the backstage area where the performers all eat and socialise. Then the lake level dropped and invasive rushes grew up and made the lake invisible from the shore. This year, although the water level is still low, they've cut the rushes back so you can see the lake again. It's a lovely setting, with a purpose-built stage facing a purpose-built amphitheatre which seats approximately 4000 on blankets and lawn chairs on the concentric terraces. As well as being a music festival it's an arts and crafts festival with lots of lovely and unusual goodies to buy.

We do our big concert on the Friday night at 9.00 p.m. just after it turns fully black. With sound by Steve Darke and his brilliant crew, we know we're in excellent hands. The stage end is handled by volunteers, but experienced ones and all under the competent direction of an experienced (longstanding) stage manager, a technical manager and a monitor engineer on side-stage. Everyone gets their own stage hand to take them on and plug them in and line-check them if necessary. There are no sound-checks for anybody (no exception) and turnaround time is rarely more than 5 minutes (with a 'tweener' on side-stage singing one song to keep the audience warm). If the act needs a drum-kit there's a roll-on platform so the drums can set up backstage behind a curtain. It's all so very smooth and well managed.

Onstage pics at Summwerfolk by John Fearnall (www.goodnoise.ca) Used with permission.







We have 35 minutes. Right from the instant we step out on to the main stage we're flying. It's an amazing experience when you have those moments of complete clarity, knowing that you're on top of your game and the audience is with you and you're not going to put a tonsil wrong.

Friends at Summerfolk L to R: Al Parrish and Rob Ritchie (Tanglefoot) and their wives, Ande Ritchie and Wendy Pearl

The rest of the weekend is a mixture of workshops, which in a Canadian festival means not a teaching workshop, but more of a round-robin concert, with a bunch of performers taking turns. We have a good time in the harmony workshop, which we host, though quite what we're supposed to sing in the 'pub tunes' workshop, I'm not sure. We shoehorn some songs into it and guess well when we do Neil Young's 'After the Gold Rush'. They love it. Neil Young is a Canadian god. On Sunday we do the Folksingers Without Guitars workshop, which is a gift for us because it means we can do anything from our repertoire.

Weather is cooler and damp, with rain showers that don't drive away the audience, thank goodness. They just wrap up in plastic and sit it out.

Wet Sunday Morning at Summersoak

We've been asked to sing 'Mary Ellen Carter' - traditionally Summerfolk's finishing song - on the big finale with Len Wallace, accordionist, left wing activist and singer. We did it in 1994, totally intimidated by having Ariel Rogers there (Stan Rogers' widow) and Al, (Stan's dad), but now Ariel seems like an old friend. It's lovely to see her again. She's been sick but seems to be well on the way to recovery. Fingers crossed.

We get together with Len to rehearse, and Grit Laskin - performer and wizard luthier and inlay artist - joins us, playing the distinctive riff that opens the song in accompanied versions, and which Grit actually had a hand in creating. (Diddle-iddle-um. Diddle-iddle-um-dum. Diddle-um-dum. Dun-dum-dum, Dum-DUM-dum-dum-dum....) That's settled. Grit's in on it, too, so the five of us are doing the last festival song with all the performers and volunteers on stage with us. We wait backstage for Lennie Gallant to finish his set and then we're up and running. Mose Scarlett sings Goodnight Irene and then we're on: Diddle-iddle-um. Diddle-iddle-um-dum. Diddle-um-dum. Dun-dum-dum, Dum-DUM-dum-dum-dum... and Hilary's into the first verse, good and strong. Good job we can hear her acoustically because with this kind of crowd on stage no one gets monitors. She can hear Grit, Brian and I can hear her. Len must be able to hear Grit, too because he's in there, too with the accordion and it's wild. The volunteers and performers behind us start stamping, clapping and singing along. Any chance of holding the speed steady is lost, we've got a monster on the loose behind us. They drive us all on until the song's going like an express train, but nobody hits a bum note or fluffs a word. We finish and the crowd goes nuts, then the folks on stage part, and the audience out front parts, and a Highland piper, the same one who's been playing for 35 years at this festival, starts up at the back. Dark Island. He walks steadily off the front of the stage through the crowd and we all follow, two by two, doing the shaking hands or high five thing with the audience as we go. It's a WOW moment. One of those memories to treasure.

Canadian Tour: Good Gigs #2

5th - 8th August: Lunenburg pics (see yesterday's post)

Hilary outside our billet at Lunenburg


Our friends Nigel and Clarisse in Toronto

11th August: Houseconcert, Toronto

For those not familiar with houseconcerts - these are a North American phenomenon where houses tend to have more open space than UK homes. Usually held on a midweek night as a filler between concert dates, the householder, invites people (and some concerts in larger houses seat 70 - 100 people depending on the place). It's basically a private party. There are no set ticket prices because that would mean the householder is using their home for commercial purposes which might invalidate insurance and contravene local bylaws, but there's a 'strongly recommended' donation of not less than $x, all of which goes to the performer. Visitors often bring food/cookies etc. to share, so there's a nibbles buffet, too. The householder gets an up-close-and-personal performance by his/her favourite performers and the performer fills an off-night and usually gets accommodation too. In this case we already have somewhere to stay, but the gig is still very welcome.

It's sold out well in advance. Full room. After a few fresh days on the coast at Lunenburg, the Toronto weather is once more excruciatingly hot and sticky, and with 40 people crammed in, the house is hot and sticky, too, even with the aircon on full. They leave the back door open for a bit of breeze, but unfortunately it lets in a mosquito. I'm A-grade mozzie-bait, and come up in huge purple welts if bitten, so every time it comes near me I'm dodging about. We try hard, but energy levels may be a little lower than usual because of the heat. I hope it doesn't show. The audience is clearly having a good time. Lovely to see so many friendly faces. Our host is David Warren who was the artistic director of Mariposa Festival and gave us our first ever gig in Canada back in 1994 when the event was briefly on Olympic Island in Toronto. There's Gord from the Flying Cloud, and Steve and Anne, and also Eileen who we met on our very first trip over. At least two people have come from the USA... just to see us... both travelling long distances. We are once again humbled.

Nigel and Clarisse come. Nigel brings his new digital video camera and films it all. Hopefully we'll be able to upload it somewhere before too much longer.

Plenty of shopping in Toronto from lowest common denominator places like Zellers, Dollarama and Wally-World (Wal-Mart) to the delightful independent shops and boutiques on Queen East at the Beaches. Brian gets jeans, jeans, jeans and more jeans. At that price how could he not? $14 for Wranglers - that's about £10. I get some new shirts and T-shirty, drapy things plus some of those rocker-shaped Scholl's sandals and a pair of purple sneakers. Hilary has a field-day in a fabulous little boutiquey shop on Queen, which has lots of floaty, drapey, baggy things in murky colours with asymmetrical hemlines and unusual tucks and shapes. OK, I confess, I bought one, too.

14th August: Aeolian Hall, London, Ontario

With Steve Ritchie and Al Parrish, lately from Tanglefoot, doing the opening spot for us this is a gig I'd have paid to do. The Aeolian is a privately owned concert hall, a fabulous building that was once London's town hall. We met up with Al and his son Ashton (age 8-ish) for dinner before the show, but Steve couldn't join us because he's recently got a more-than-full-time job doing technical stuff at the radio station in Owen Sound where he does his Thursday night 'Hundred Mile Music Show'. We stay for one night with Bill and Kenna and their granddaughter (and Sheltie dog) and then depart for Steve, Sharon and Connor's house in Chatsworth, just south of Owen Sound. More visiting, more shopping, both in Owen Sound, and a fascinating trip to Keady market - a huge outdoor cattle-market, farmers' market and general market which takes us 2 hours to walk around, there's so much to see (and buy).

18th August: Houseconcert, Grey Highlands Ontario

An amazing house, seemingly in the middle of nowhere (but not really). It always boggles me when some of Canada's highways are gravel rather than tarmac. I feel as though I'm going up a farm track - but no, they're real roads. Glad we've got directions, though. Apparently if you try and use a satnav it dumps you in the middle of the woods. We're fed royally before the gig and then perform in front of a huge, pointy picture window that looks out across woodlands. There are fans who've travelled up from Orangeville and neighbours who don't know us from Adam. A lovely mix. And Gord's here again.

Then there's just one more day to spend with the Ritchies before moving into the Travelodge, the hotel where all the performers stay for Summerfolk Festival at Owen Sound. Unfortunately I bend over to fold a shirt for my suitcase and feel my back go sproing. 'It's then I discover the delights of Robax (robaxicet) a muscle relaxant combined with various painkillers - in my case ibuprohen. It's not available over the counter in either the USA or the UK, but it's brilliant stuff. It stops my back from spasming in next to no time and lets it fix itself over the next few days. It even seems to help my foot. With that and the stretches from Clarisse (and a bit of careful planning) my foot isn't too bad over the course of the festival

20th - 22nd August: Summerfolk Festival, Owen Sound, Ontario




One of our favourite festivals. It's all contained on one site at Kelso Beach Park in Owen Sound, which fronts on to Georgian Bay, that part of Lake Huron that's like an ear-shape, separated form the main lake by the Bruce Peninsula. We played Summerfolk on our very first trip to Canada, some 16 years ago. Back then the lake came right up to the backstage area where the performers all eat and socialise. Then the lake level dropped and invasive rushes grew up and made the lake invisible from the shore. This year, although the water level is still low, they've cut the rushes back so you can see the lake again. It's a lovely setting, with a purpose-built stage facing a purpose-built amphitheatre which seats approximately 4000 on blankets and lawn chairs on the concentric terraces. As well as being a music festival it's an arts and crafts festival with lots of lovely and unusual goodies to buy.

We do our big concert on the Friday night at 9.00 p.m. just after it turns fully black. With sound by Steve Darke and his brilliant crew, we know we're in excellent hands. The stage end is handled by volunteers, but experienced ones and all under the competent direction of an experienced (longstanding) stage manager, a technical manager and a monitor engineer on side-stage. Everyone gets their own stage hand to take them on and plug them in and line-check them if necessary. There are no sound-checks for anybody (no exception) and turnaround time is rarely more than 5 minutes (with a 'tweener' on side-stage singing one song to keep the audience warm). If the act needs a drum-kit there's a roll-on platform so the drums can set up backstage behind a curtain. It's all so very smooth and well managed.

Onstage pics at Summwerfolk by John Fearnall (www.goodnoise.ca) Used with permission.







We have 35 minutes. Right from the instant we step out on to the main stage we're flying. It's an amazing experience when you have those moments of complete clarity, knowing that you're on top of your game and the audience is with you and you're not going to put a tonsil wrong.

Friends at Summerfolk L to R: Al Parrish and Rob Ritchie (Tanglefoot) and their wives, Ande Ritchie and Wendy Pearl

The rest of the weekend is a mixture of workshops, which in a Canadian festival means not a teaching workshop, but more of a round-robin concert, with a bunch of performers taking turns. We have a good time in the harmony workshop, which we host, though quite what we're supposed to sing in the 'pub tunes' workshop, I'm not sure. We shoehorn some songs into it and guess well when we do Neil Young's 'After the Gold Rush'. They love it. Neil Young is a Canadian god. On Sunday we do the Folksingers Without Guitars workshop, which is a gift for us because it means we can do anything from our repertoire.

Weather is cooler and damp, with rain showers that don't drive away the audience, thank goodness. They just wrap up in plastic and sit it out.

Wet Sunday Morning at Summersoak

We've been asked to sing 'Mary Ellen Carter' - traditionally Summerfolk's finishing song - on the big finale with Len Wallace, accordionist, left wing activist and singer. We did it in 1994, totally intimidated by having Ariel Rogers there (Stan Rogers' widow) and Al, (Stan's dad), but now Ariel seems like an old friend. It's lovely to see her again. She's been sick but seems to be well on the way to recovery. Fingers crossed.

We get together with Len to rehearse, and Grit Laskin - performer and wizard luthier and inlay artist - joins us, playing the distinctive riff that opens the song in accompanied versions, and which Grit actually had a hand in creating. (Diddle-iddle-um. Diddle-iddle-um-dum. Diddle-um-dum. Dun-dum-dum, Dum-DUM-dum-dum-dum....) That's settled. Grit's in on it, too, so the five of us are doing the last festival song with all the performers and volunteers on stage with us. We wait backstage for Lennie Gallant to finish his set and then we're up and running. Mose Scarlett sings Goodnight Irene and then we're on: Diddle-iddle-um. Diddle-iddle-um-dum. Diddle-um-dum. Dun-dum-dum, Dum-DUM-dum-dum-dum... and Hilary's into the first verse, good and strong. Good job we can hear her acoustically because with this kind of crowd on stage no one gets monitors. She can hear Grit, Brian and I can hear her. Len must be able to hear Grit, too because he's in there, too with the accordion and it's wild. The volunteers and performers behind us start stamping, clapping and singing along. Any chance of holding the speed steady is lost, we've got a monster on the loose behind us. They drive us all on until the song's going like an express train, but nobody hits a bum note or fluffs a word. We finish and the crowd goes nuts, then the folks on stage part, and the audience out front parts, and a Highland piper, the same one who's been playing for 35 years at this festival, starts up at the back. Dark Island. He walks steadily off the front of the stage through the crowd and we all follow, two by two, doing the shaking hands or high five thing with the audience as we go. It's a WOW moment. One of those memories to treasure.

Bad Flights #2

The saga of the US(less)Airlines, she is not yet over...

So on Monday morning we pack our suitcases, leave the hotel in Owen Sound and go and have one last breakfast at Boots and Blades (3 eggs over-easy, bacon, home-fries and toast) call in to see Sharon and Connor on the way 'home' (Steve is already at work but we said our goodbye's yesterday) and head for Nigel and Clarisse's in Toronto to repack everything for the flight out on Tuesday. It's a three hour drive with no major traffic trauma. Tuesday morning there's a modicum of last minute shopping. Hilary can't get those quilted red wellies out of her head, and she's made room in her suitcase. Brian reckons a few more pairs of jeans won't hurt. Then it's packing and weighing and re-packing until the bags don't appear to exceed 50 pounds each and we're off to the airport to return the rental car and get through check-in and American immigration and customs (they do it in Toronto before you leave). Everything's going so well...

However.., US Airways does it to us again. We're connecting to the Manchester flight in Philadelphia as before, but this time we only have an hour and a half. It should be OK. We now know Philadelphia arport pretty well. We should arrive at Terminal F, go to Gate 10, take the shuttle bus to Terminal A and then walk the whole length of the terminal to Gate A25. We clear US customs and immigration in Toronto with plenty of time to spare, go and get a drink and a Tim Horton's doughnut (Honey Cruller - highly recommended) and go to the gate early. The flight is showing 'on time'. Lovely. It's due out at 5.40 p.m. About 4.50 I go to the loo and glance at the board. Oh, bloody hell, the flight's now showing 30 minutes delay. Buggeration! Well there's not much we can do. It still gives us an hour at the other end.

The plane eventually arrives. We all board, strap in, settle down and then the pilot announces that because we've missed our timeslot on the runway we may have to wait for clearance to take off. We sit on the bloody runway for another 30 minutes. It's OK, the attendant says. We can still do the transfer in 30 minutes if we're quick. Our connecting flights (it's not just the Manchester flight, of course) have been alerted and they'll (probably) wait. Yeah. Right!

OK, 30 minutes is still possible.

So we're 40 miles out of Philadelphia when the plane get sent round the block again - in a ruddy great stack, bleeding off time and more time. We eventually land at 8.30 and our Manchester flight leaves at 8.44 from the farthest point in the farthest terminal. Hilary has to wait for her cabin baggage to be returned to her because it was too big for the overhead lockers on the small plane from Toronto. My foot's had enough by this time and it slows me down, so Brian and I start hoofing it as fast as we can, figuring that Hilary will be a lot faster than I will once she's got her bag. We get to the shuttle bus and start to load. Still no Hilary. The bus moves off. She's missed the first shuttle. Brian and I get to Terminal A and start out for Gate 25 which is so far away we can't see it. We're just following signs. They're calling all remaining passengers for our flight, Boarding has officiall closed but they're still holding the gate open. I can't walk any faster, but the gate is now in sight. 'Go, run!' I tell Brian. Tell them we're here. We're coming. Try and keep the gate open.' He shoulders his backpack and trots off. I see he's got to the gate. Good. They can hardly close it on him now. I come puffing up to the gate. We both show our passports and they say they're going to have to close the gate. They can't wait for Hilary. Neither Brian nor I make a move for the skybridge. 'She's coming. She's right behind us, on the next shuttle from Terminal F,' we tell them. 'She's a minute or two away at most.' I make a show of needing to get my breath back, but in truth it's only show. Brian steps out into the concourse to see if he can spot her. Miracle of miracles, there she is, haring down the corridor, wheelie bag in tow. They have to wait now.

And they do.

Of course, once we get on the plane - still shaking from the exertion - we've another half an hour while they load our luggage, but that's OK. I'm honestly resigned to having it follow us on another flight, but they load the bags and away we go. The rest of the flight is mercifully uneventful.

Bad Flights #2

The saga of the US(less)Airlines, she is not yet over...

So on Monday morning we pack our suitcases, leave the hotel in Owen Sound and go and have one last breakfast at Boots and Blades (3 eggs over-easy, bacon, home-fries and toast) call in to see Sharon and Connor on the way 'home' (Steve is already at work but we said our goodbye's yesterday) and head for Nigel and Clarisse's in Toronto to repack everything for the flight out on Tuesday. It's a three hour drive with no major traffic trauma. Tuesday morning there's a modicum of last minute shopping. Hilary can't get those quilted red wellies out of her head, and she's made room in her suitcase. Brian reckons a few more pairs of jeans won't hurt. Then it's packing and weighing and re-packing until the bags don't appear to exceed 50 pounds each and we're off to the airport to return the rental car and get through check-in and American immigration and customs (they do it in Toronto before you leave). Everything's going so well...

However.., US Airways does it to us again. We're connecting to the Manchester flight in Philadelphia as before, but this time we only have an hour and a half. It should be OK. We now know Philadelphia arport pretty well. We should arrive at Terminal F, go to Gate 10, take the shuttle bus to Terminal A and then walk the whole length of the terminal to Gate A25. We clear US customs and immigration in Toronto with plenty of time to spare, go and get a drink and a Tim Horton's doughnut (Honey Cruller - highly recommended) and go to the gate early. The flight is showing 'on time'. Lovely. It's due out at 5.40 p.m. About 4.50 I go to the loo and glance at the board. Oh, bloody hell, the flight's now showing 30 minutes delay. Buggeration! Well there's not much we can do. It still gives us an hour at the other end.

The plane eventually arrives. We all board, strap in, settle down and then the pilot announces that because we've missed our timeslot on the runway we may have to wait for clearance to take off. We sit on the bloody runway for another 30 minutes. It's OK, the attendant says. We can still do the transfer in 30 minutes if we're quick. Our connecting flights (it's not just the Manchester flight, of course) have been alerted and they'll (probably) wait. Yeah. Right!

OK, 30 minutes is still possible.

So we're 40 miles out of Philadelphia when the plane get sent round the block again - in a ruddy great stack, bleeding off time and more time. We eventually land at 8.30 and our Manchester flight leaves at 8.44 from the farthest point in the farthest terminal. Hilary has to wait for her cabin baggage to be returned to her because it was too big for the overhead lockers on the small plane from Toronto. My foot's had enough by this time and it slows me down, so Brian and I start hoofing it as fast as we can, figuring that Hilary will be a lot faster than I will once she's got her bag. We get to the shuttle bus and start to load. Still no Hilary. The bus moves off. She's missed the first shuttle. Brian and I get to Terminal A and start out for Gate 25 which is so far away we can't see it. We're just following signs. They're calling all remaining passengers for our flight, Boarding has officiall closed but they're still holding the gate open. I can't walk any faster, but the gate is now in sight. 'Go, run!' I tell Brian. Tell them we're here. We're coming. Try and keep the gate open.' He shoulders his backpack and trots off. I see he's got to the gate. Good. They can hardly close it on him now. I come puffing up to the gate. We both show our passports and they say they're going to have to close the gate. They can't wait for Hilary. Neither Brian nor I make a move for the skybridge. 'She's coming. She's right behind us, on the next shuttle from Terminal F,' we tell them. 'She's a minute or two away at most.' I make a show of needing to get my breath back, but in truth it's only show. Brian steps out into the concourse to see if he can spot her. Miracle of miracles, there she is, haring down the corridor, wheelie bag in tow. They have to wait now.

And they do.

Of course, once we get on the plane - still shaking from the exertion - we've another half an hour while they load our luggage, but that's OK. I'm honestly resigned to having it follow us on another flight, but they load the bags and away we go. The rest of the flight is mercifully uneventful.