Friday Nights With The Thunderbirds…

Just to show me why I am like I am, a dream landed upon my sleeping form last night and I made a decision: 

Don’t, don’t, don’t pop around to Tracy Island for a knees-up tonight!

It is now apparent to me that the Thunderbirds don’t drink.

They don’t do pints in the pub or parties. The Thunderbirds are always awaiting another call, always on duty, always, bloody always stone-cold sober. Not even an aperitif (they are plastic, they don’t need teeth).

So the rebel rousers that we are have decide instead to attend a musical evening with an array of musical youth playing anything from pianos to … pianos.

Proud parents and grandparents will be seated in a church hired for the occasion and will wait with anticipation for the arrival of their offspring – on the stool of life. There to play or not to play. Sometimes…