The visit.

OK so,  we’re still alive.  In spite of having,  truth be told,  an overwhelmingly greater number of strangers in our household than we’ve ever had in our lives. 

Probably the nicest bunch of “kids” you could ever have any kind of a misconception about.  Of course, I had been told by the Mom of one of the band members not to be fooled by appearances,  but it’s pretty easy to let those nagging doubts start to enter your head.

Sort of reminiscent of an old chum of Daughter Number one who,  some time oh say,  20 years ago,  was perhaps a little scruffy looking,  prompting her mother to have some sort of off hand comment about his appearance,  and how she “just wasn’t too sure about that guy”.  Mind you,  these days he’s as “clean cut” as the next guy,  since he was called to the bar some 10 years ago.  So maybe he was kind of shifty after all?  No really,  he’s also a pussy cat.   And it never hurts to know just one more lawyer.

 

My biggest “challenge” of course,  is being up late enough to actually get them in the door.   These kinds of things almost always involve the wee hours of the morning and sure enough,  our doorbell rang at about 3:00 a.m.  I had been warned.

Thankfully there was a phone call the previous evening around six,  saying they were at the venue and setting up.  There had been no time to come by previously for introductions or whatever,  so that was the way things would roll.   See,  my scheme of the way I envisioned things playing out was,  they could come by here as early as they’d like,  I’d feed them if necessary,  point out the sleeping arrangements,  hand over a couple keys,  and not again be concerned about staying awake to know when they arrived. 

As it was,  the sleeping arrangements didn’t turn out the way I envisioned,  since at least two of the group had professional status in the snoring department.  It seems this was something that was well known by the group,  so each of those two individuals got their own rooms.  Even at the cost of leaving one whole bed empty.

I was a little surprised this morning to see Marc sleeping on the floor in our living room.  That wasn’t part of my plan!

The days of ever sleeping on any surface as hard as the floor are long over for me,  since I’d be a cripple for at least a week,  but he seemed to relish the arrangement.   The floor is always going to be of a consistent hardness,  whereas a minor back aggravation that he mentioned  would preclude taking a chance with any bed that happened to present itself.   OK then.   I’d still be a cripple.   I’ll admit there was that farmer’s field,  but I was even younger than these guys.

 

So we shoved some food into them,  since they had a drive to Ljubljana ahead of them.

I can’t say for sure,  but I think it was one of the better breakfasts that they’ve had on their tour.  We even made available some Canadian Maple Syrup,  to go along with the pancakes that T.C. made.   I mean,  they’re Canadian after all,  and they took great delight in having their Italian driver try maple syrup for the first time.  I think he liked it.   He’s the second from the right.  Forgot his name as soon as he introduced himself,  but that’s just me.

Actually,  I just realised that photo is missing the drummer,  who at this point had hit the showers.  And yes,  they did all shower. Note the pile of towels in the first photo.  Mind you, my orders were such that I was to give instructions on the workings of the shower (I suppose it could be confusing, but I doubt it)  but right along with that,  I did make sure to explain the charming side effects of our “lay and display”  type of water closet.  It’s kind of like crapping in the woods.  When you back one out,  it just lies there and mocks you, in a stinking kind of way,  especially if you haven’t been particularly vigilant when it comes to what you put in your pie hole to start with.

 

This ties in nicely with explaining the benefits of having an exhaust fan.  Complete with handy reminder:

I mean,  I’ve lived here two and a half years,  so I have the location of that switch down pat,  but I’ve observed far too many guests struggling to surreptitiously try to exhaust any lingering odours.   Having a little sign never hurts.   No one complained.

 

Actually they were all gracious and thankful.  I could never do what they do.  And this isn’t their first time.  Probably not their last.  Non of them are smokers,  but when it comes to most night clubs,  that doesn’t really matter,  since you’re going to stink when the day is done anyway.  Like I said.  Couldn’t do it.  I get a little vexed following someone’s “cloud” out on the street.  In a sweaty,  smelly night club?  Gah!

Oh,  and the young lady who does the crazy “singing”?  (more like growling if you ask me)  sort of reminded me of a French Canadian version of Laura Ingalls.  Only even smaller,  with a tinier voice, and every bit as polite.   I thought,  “OK,  where’s that crazy assed (i.e., slightly scary) chick I tried to watch on YouTube?”  

Some sort of “stage presence” alter ego going on there.   But,  like BASE jumping,  sky-diving,  or any other activity where I don’t quite “get it”,  the whole “Grunge/Grind/whatever” thing will forever remain a mystery to me.   And I’m OK with that.

I mean it.

 

 

I hope everyone enjoys the rest of their weekend.   Have a Happy Easter. 

 

Thanks for coming by.

 

 

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