Jess on a Field Guide Course

Set in a beautiful sand forest, Ehlathini bush camp is where Bhejane Nature Training courses take place. Up in Zululand north of Hluhluwe village within sight of the north-west arm of Lake St Lucia, the camp borders iSimangaliso Wetland Park.

Jess to Zululand Training Course (15)

Jess was assigned a wooden cabin in a mango orchard to share with Lydia from London.

Jess to Zululand Training Course (13)
Jess to Zululand Training Course (39)

Better than a tent, eh Jess? “Just, Dad!” Lydia from London had arrived before her, so got the better bed! She wasn’t around when I dropped Jess off.

With much trepidation and bravery Jess waved me goodbye and started her first extended spell away from home!

Visit Jess Bhejane (1).jpg

Update: She’s now in Ebandla Trails Camp in Amakhosi Reserve up near Nongoma. She’s out of comms but today they were up on a hill and she borrowed her friend Blessing’s phone and let me now she’s well: Hey Dad, I met Lydia she’s great. She’s a bit older than me and kind. We walked right near an ele herd, and a lioness with a cub, and we’re staying here till Sunday 28th May, and will you visit when we get back to Ehlathini that day? – “Sure thing my love!”

At night they took turns standing guard while their colleagues slept.

Jess & Lydia being brave:

Lions roared in the dark nearby. This scared them, but not as much as a harmless rain spider they found in their wooden hut back at base camp.

Jessie’s Team: She was one of the two teenagers. The rest ranged from low twenties to mid-thirties – and one aged 67.

The course proved very challenging, the lectures long (“and boring, Dad”) and Jess decided not to wait for the exams.

The books and notes were more extensive than I’d have predicted when I booked her on the course:


Ehlathini – ‘in the forest’

Ebandla – ‘where men assemble’

Amakhosi – ‘of the chiefs’

Bhejane – ‘black rhino’

Hluhluwe – ‘thorny monkey rope (creeper)’

iSimangaliso – ‘miracle; wonder; surprise’

~~oo0oo~~

Mother Mary Methodist

Tue 2nd May 2017 –

I got a phone call at work from a good friend of the folks who had just visited Mom and Dad – “Your Mom was saying strange things and was not herself, I think you should visit”, said Keith Griffiths. I phoned sister Sheila, who phoned other sister Barbara, and then drove to Maritzburg.

Mom was physically fine, but a bit confused and – tragically – with marked short-term memory loss. Trying hard to be alright, she asked me ‘How’s Trish?’ Trish who died six years ago. Dear old Mom has had a ‘turn’ leading to sudden short-term memory loss. Tragic. She has always been so sharp and organised. Luckily her long-term memory and sharp sense of humour is unaffected.

DAMN!! Probably a transient ischaemic attack (TIA) or “mini stroke”.

~~~oo0oo~~~

TIA – caused by a temporary disruption in the blood supply to part of the brain. The disruption in blood supply results in a lack of oxygen. This can cause sudden symptoms similar to a stroke, such as speech and visual disturbance, and numbness or weakness in the face, arms and legs. However, a TIA doesn’t last as long as a stroke. The effects often only last for a few minutes or hours and fully resolve within 24 hours.

But Mom’s memory loss is still apparent a week later.

She blames a bad fall she had when she banged her head hard on a corner near the kitchen door.

~~~oo0oo~~~

I phoned them the next morning:

Dad says he told Mom to stay in bed till the sun came up but she didn’t. He thinks she should see an audiologist as she doesn’t listen! He’s as deaf as a post and her hearing is great, making the joke all the better.

~~~oo0oo~~~

Mom says she prays for Tom n Jessie every day that they’ll understand their lessons and pass their tests.

I asked her in mock-worry if that wasn’t cheating?! Mary Methodist immediately saw the joke and hosed herself. Slightly cautiously, though. She was raised not to tempt fate. No, she didn’t think asking for divine intervention was cheating on their behalf, she chuckled.

~~~oo0oo~~~

In the midst of a big cleanup, Sheila found a photo. On the back is written:

Marjory, Pat and Peggy – Harrismith 1938 – Signed DC Reed

*** pic here ***

So she phoned Mum for more info:

Marjory was Farquhar – her younger sister was Dossie, who was Mum’s great mate and bridesmaid, She now lives in an old age home in Bethlehem and she and Mum chat quite often. Pat was Bland, Mom’s older sister. Peggy was Hastings – Michael’s sister – she had a lovely sense of humour – she had three kids and then her husband walked out on her. So she came back to Harrismith and married Bert Starkey – her kids were Barbara, Stuart and AN Other.

~~~oo0oo~~~

The “DC Reed” Mum thinks was Peggy’s cousin Daphne, whom they called Dodo – Mum says she was lovely and they all loved her.

It’s really a gorgeous pic and Pat looks so full of fun and nonsense, which she usually was!

So now you know. Love Sheila

~~~oo0oo~~~

More Mom Memories:

One day, before Mum started school, Brenda Longbottom came to play. She lived across the road in Stuart Street and was much older – a full eighteen months older. Mum very proudly told Brenda about a book she was reading – all about a little girl called Lucky.

When Brenda saw the book she told Mum in a withering tone that the little girl’s name was Lucy, pronounced Loosie, not Lukkie! Mum was devastated.

(Years later I was also teased for getting hard and soft ‘c”s mixed when I said Sir-Sum-Fur-Rinse for circumference. Hey, we read phonetically ‘by our own selves’, so this happens!).

~~~oo0oo~~~

Mary’s niece Frankie Cowie married and became a McCarthy. She named her sons Patrick and Henry. When a grandchild was born she phoned Mary with the good news and asked if she could help with a name. ‘A name that goes with McCarthy.’ Well, Mom knew not to suggest Gert, even though that was the granpa’s name, so she immediately asked: ‘Have you thought about Benni?’

Benni McCarthy was South Africa’s ‘bad boy’ star striker in the national soccer team and was very much in the news at the time. A real character, he marches to his own drum and has even been a rap artist! Now he’s a coach and father of four daughters.

I can just imagine Frankie throwing her head back and HOSING herself at Auntie Mary’s suggestion!

~~~oo0oo~~~

Two years on, 2019: Went to the farm for boxing day as Mom had suffered 3 or 4 TIA’s starting early xmas morning. Very distressing. Couldn’t remember if she’d had xmas or not, and could not at all remember opening pressies with the great grandkids.

She recovered well and was fine later, but weak – and often worried about what she was thinking or saying. “Ooh”, she said, “I almost asked you, How’s Trish? but she died, didn’t she?” Hey, well done for catching yourself in time!

Meantime, of the ten people staying there, seven fell prey to the collywobbles and some vomiting. Talk about Jingled Bowels.

Also, due to complaints from the intolerant, one poor farm rooster got shot due to excessive enthusiasm on xmas morning. Poor bugger was probably just singing a desperate poultry carol, praying that by being pious he wouldn’t be the one invited to the festive table! Maybe Jungle Fowls, Jungle Fowls, ?

~~oo0oo~~

Cape Vidal Camping

So I took these –

Cape Vidal Apr17 (50)

. . to here –

and when they saw these harmless creatures –

they squealed and ran out of the campsite shouting “Pete! I’m taking an uber home!” and “Dad! I’m taking an uber home!” Pests.

Cape Vidal Apr17 (71)

We saw kudu, nyala, hippo, buffalo, giraffe, mongoose, zebra, warthog and hyena. Sindi pipes up on a drive: “There are no animals here!” She meant we hadn’t seen an elephant or a lion.

’twas like casting pearls before swine . . . .

iSimangaliso Sindi Apr17.jpg

They had a ball.

~~~~oo0oo~~~~

Holy Green Underpants

Who remembers the AWB’s Eugene Terreblanche? Who can forget him? I bumped into him one day ca.1999.

Driving my hired car in a crowded Pretorius Street in downtown Pretoria one fine day I slowed down to let a car wanting in move around a stationary truck. It pulled past the truck and went back into the left lane and slowed so that I drew next to it. The driver wound down his window and gave me a very sincere, “Baie dankie, ek waardeer dit terdeë,” in that voice, staring straight at me, impaling me on the pale blue flames of his blowtorch eyes. *

I reminded myself to breave. * It was Eugene Terreblanche himself. Charismatic bliksem.

Like this, except he was driving and he didn’t smile – he was all sincerity and dankbaarheid.

Terreblanche in car

Famous for his 1988 / 89 liaison with Sunday Times reporter Jani Allan.

Jani Allan.jpg

His large white bottom and his green underpants hit the news.

In court: Further testimony was given by AWB financial secretary Mej. Kays Smit. Smit testified that Allan had phoned her to come and remove a drunken Terre’Blanche from her flat early one morning because Allan was expecting someone and was anxious to get rid of him. Smit testified to finding Terre’Blanche on Allan’s couch “naked except for a khaki jacket around his shoulders and a pair of green underpants with holes in them”.

underpants green

I have inspected my own underpants carefully ever since, and replace them more frequently than I used to, and I never buy green. You never know . . . .

~~oo0oo~~

*Jani Allan’s description of his penetrating gaze! She wrote “Right now I’ve got to remind myself to breathe … I’m impaled on the blue flames of his blowtorch eyes.”

“Baie dankie, ek waardeer dit terdee” – Fank you, sincerely appreciated

breave – haal asem

haal asem – take bref

bliksem – oke; person

dankbaarheid – fankfulness; gratitude

– o fok! – ET – Eugene Terreblanche –

Thunderheads

I read Thunderhead by Mary O’Hara as a kid and loved it. Horse ranching and racing in the hills of Wyoming near Laramie. The description of a thunderhead as a huge, solid-looking towering cloud formation always stayed with me. The horse was named after the cloud:

Thunderhead.jpg

And today I saw one over the Indian Ocean as I left work. It was away to the South East, reflecting the setting sun behind me.

 

~~~oo0oo~~~

A quarter century later I got to Wyoming on honeymoon; but further west, Jackson Hole and the Grand Tetons.

The Learners Licence Learning Curve

Sat with Jess in the long queue at the Marianhill Drivers Test Centre.

20170410_093657.jpg

This time we had all the required ducks waddling in formation like Egyptian goslings (which are ducks, not true geese) and R150 later we had a booking for two days time: Jessie’s first attempt at her learners test!

She came out with a stiff upper lip but it was quivering and when in the car and driving out she dissolved and blubbed ‘I failed!’ – even though we had rehearsed how it didn’t matter, how the first attempt is often failed and how persevering was the main thing. She still didn’t like it and was NEVER going to try again.

But she will.

Duck! 18th April – 3 days’ time

Be warned – an asteroid as big as the Rock of Gibraltar will streak past Earth on Tuesday 18 April at an uncomfortably close distance, according to astronomers.

Although there is no possibility the asteroid will collide with our planet, this will be a very close approach for an asteroid this size, NASA said in a statement. Dubbed 2014-JO25 and roughly 650 metres across, the asteroid will come very close after having looped around the Sun. 2014-J025 will then continue on past Jupiter before heading back toward the centre of our Solar System. In Durban you need to duck at 8.17pm that night, and in Tshwane at around 8.21pm. Don’t forget.

~~oo0oo~~

As Good Books Go

Talking about ‘fuck’ – I read a wonderful book ‘Duzi Fever’ by an entertaining old bugger Rob Gouldie who did the 1955 Dusi. I once heard him give a hilarious talk at Kingfisher. He told a lo-ong story of hardship, paddling, dragging canoes, breaking boats, chopping one up and stuffing it into the other, lunch breaks and – eventually – settling down for the night in the darkness on their own after a long and stressful day – ‘we were at sewerage farm!’ That brought the house down, as usually one passes sewerage farm within an hour of the start!

Rob Gouldie has since shuffled off down his final rapid.

– straight-talking book –

Excerpts:

On portaging on the Duzi – “Negotiating barbed wire fences was a ball ache second to none . . . you had to pry open the strands so your partner could squeeze himself and the the canoe through without hooking his nuts“.

Winning the Dusi one year his partner “blew” and said “Rob, I’m fucked, can I just trail my paddle behind me and pretend I’m steering?”

He asked for leave from his job at a bank to do the Dusi and his manager refused. He writes: “I never knew how important I was as a junior clerk and felt quite proud that the bank would grind to a halt without my services”. Anyway he went AWOL, wrote a letter of resignation “should the shit hit the fan”. It did. He expressed great relief at no longer working for them.

On the race his partner “developed a severe chafe due to sand in his underpants” so he threw away his pants and underpants and “went Beau Brummel”. When they got to Umfula Trading Store the owner kicked him out. His wife was serving in the shop and Rob thinks the owner “was upset that she might be able to compare notes”. After Rob explained and his partner demonstrated, the owner took pity on his partner and gave him a roll of plaster “to wrap around the emaciated-looking Percy”.

In shooting a rapid: ” . . where we nearly saw our rings . . “

They were lying second one Dusi, 44mins behind the leaders who were “obviously cocksure of their lead, not knowing we had caught up to them and could almost smell their farts”.

On a trip down the Umkomaas he bought and drank way too many raspberry-flavoured milk drinks at a remote valley trading store, got bilious . . . and “hurled the most spectacular pink cat”. His mate caught the moment on film:

Trip Rob Gouldie Umko shoots pink cat

And on in that vein.
I thoroughly enjoyed it! My kind of book! I was delighted to read his full and free use of ‘English as she is spoken on riverbanks’ and determined not to censor Customary Paddling Language in the Umko 50 book. Someone proofreading suggested I use f___ or f__k instead of fuck. Not.

Or: Fuck That!

~~~oo0oo~~~

81 years of Matric

1938 – Dad – Maritzburg College, Pietermaritzburg.

Pieter Swanepoel 1938 matric
– Maritzburg College’s 150th -enary –

1972 – Me – Harrismith se Hoerskool, Vrystaat.

Science class - Elsie Campher watches me searching - Jean Roux on right
– looks like Elsie is chirping me as I pretend I might have done some homework –

1975 – Aitch at Muizenberg High – head girl!

– Mom Aitch was head girl as a Humphrey –

2016 – My Jessie – Wendon Academy, Westville, KwaZuluNatal.

20160307_072509
– eish! school! –

2019 – My Tommy – home schooling – did the GED course

– tutor Langelihle Dube and TomTom hard at work –

We went from steam power to cellphone power! Well actually, I spose the internal combustion engine was up and running when the ole man left matric . . .

~~~oo0oo~~~

Ken Gillings’ Hysterical Tours

Dear old Ken died too soon. His tours were hugely educational – and such fun. You had to listen carefully or you’d miss his wicked Sergeant-Major little asides and throw-away comments. And you had to stay up late in the pub after the day ended to hear his best ribald Sergeant-Major jokes. We should have recorded them all. Well, here’s one, anyway.

We walked the Fugitive’s Trail from Isandlwana to Fugitive’s Drift. Ken arranged for a local man to take us to the start and fetch us at the end in his taxi – a shiny new Toyota Quantum like this:

Toyota Quantum

On the way we stopped to look at something and Ken ordered us to hop out of the taxi. Then he paused, gave a slight grin and said:

“You could call that a ‘quantum leap.’

~~oo0oo~~

Our traipse along the trail was not uneventful. Once again a bunch of pale people were out of their depth, just like in 1879. Also, our average age was way above that of the pommy soldiers, and we had no horses. Even though we weren’t being pursued by victorious Zulus, panting was heard and hearts fluttered. Some had to lie down a while.

We walked from the Isandlwana mountain to the Buffalo river at Fugitives Drift:

Fugitives Drift down in the valley on the left

We were a bit slower than the fleeing poms at the uMzinyathi (Buffalo) River crossing. Didn’t want to get our shoes wet:

Once again a bunch of bumbling Wit Ous cross the Buffalo at Fugitives Drift

After the tour I thanked Ken for a wonderful weekend and awarded him the Victoria Cross for his brave endeavours. Or rather, my Victoria Cross-on-Zulu-Shield, which I had earned by running a 21km half-marathon from Isandlwana to Rorke’s Drift years earlier.

– no blood was spilled in the earning of this medal – and only a mild amount of sweat –

~~oo0oo~~

Another Year Moertoe

or put more politely: ‘Bites The Dust’.

Woke up to breakfast in bed. The bacon was crispy:

20170401_071405.jpg

The card was mushy:

20170401_072932

Thank you Jessie love!!

Tom was first to wish me. That’s because he got home in the wee hours and woke me to open up for him, giving me a big “April Fool!” as I welcomed him home.


April Fool’s Day started before me! PROOF:

On this day in 1582, the Council of Trent called for France to switch from the Julian calendar. People who were slow to get the news or failed to recognise that the start of the new year had moved to January 1 became the butt of jokes and hoaxes.

These included having paper fish placed on their backs and being referred to as “poisson d’avril” (April fish), said to symbolize a young, easily caught fish and a gullible person.

Historians have also linked April Fools’ Day to ancient festivals such as Hilaria, which was celebrated in Rome at the end of March and involved people dressing up in disguises. There’s also speculation that April Fools’ Day was tied to the vernal equinox, or first day of spring in the Northern Hemisphere, when Mother Nature fooled people with changing, unpredictable weather.

England had a similar tradition and by the 18th century, April Fools’ Day had spread throughout Britain. In Scotland, the tradition became a two-day event.

Three Raptors

Three raptors soared over my valley yesterday:

Fish Eagle

Fish Eagle flying

Crowned Eagle

Crowned Eagle flying

African Goshawk

African Goshawk flying

My pic of the Crowned Eagle: (see why I used photos from the great sites I’ve listed below!?)

20170401_142641[1]

(find lovely bird pics at theflacks.co.za; africageographic.com; wilkinsonsworld.com – thank you!)

 

Pro-fanity

I am pro- profanity. I believe it’s good; I believe they are often descriptive, useful and helpful words.

Like fuck.

When given the old (erroneous) line that people who use swearwords have meagre vocabularies, great comedian George Carlin was indignant. He said “I know LOTS of words. I just happen to like fuck”.

George Carlin

I’m reading a change-your-lifestyle book by John Parkin called Fuck It – Do What You Love. Except he writes it f**k it. I think that’s pointless (he probly did it for commercial reasons. I can understand that. Unlike me, he actually sold a lot of books and if you want to sell on the American market you probably have to sugar-coat reality). Everyone knows f**k means fuck, even the youngsters whose eyes and ears people are ostensibly shielding. I dunno why the acceptance of one and shock-horror of the same thing. After all, f**k = fuck, for fuck’s sake.

– Duzi Fever, Rob Gouldie, self-published, undated, uncensored, great book –

While I was writing a book (Yes! Here it is Umko 50 Years) I read a number of books on river paddling. Most were written the usual way, but Rob Gouldie described his partner as ‘having a hip deformity causing him to walk like a windscreen wiper;’ he wrote how his exhausted partner nearing the finish of the Dusi Canoe Marathon asked his permission to rest saying, ‘I’m fucked! Can I trail my paddle so it looks like I’m steering?’ He also spoke about climbing through barbed wire fences ‘without hooking your nuts,’ and how Dusi runny guts had them ‘crapping through the eye of a needle.’ And I loved it. I thought that’s how one should write a book, just as you speak around the campfire. Don’t be fake; Don’t be faux-coy; Don’t be prissy. So I kept the “fucks” and the “foks” in my book uncensored. “Customary Paddling Language,” I called it when people objected and suggested I use asterisks. I declined. My book would have no f*cks, no f*ks. It would have the real fucks and foks.

I also believe (of course I’m biased!) that people who swear are on average more trust-worthy, so I think Granma Crews made a mistake in the early seventies in Apache Oklahoma when she didn’t buy a fridge from Stanley Wright. Stan could hardly say a sentence without saying “son of a bitch,” “sonbitch” or “sumbitch”. It was his “whatchacallit”. Some people say “Let’s load that baby up” where Stan would say “Let’s load that sumbitch up”. And he was on form the day Granma went to his shop. They had just about clinched the deal when he said his last sumbitch and Granma Crews decided she’d had enough, slammed the fridge door shut saying “Well you can keep the sumbitch!” and stalked out on Stan who was probably left wondering what he had possibly said to get that reaction! Goodness! He had never heard old Ma Crews speak like that before!

Lauren Martin writes in the link below that if you’re feeling down or doing something wrong, fucking good friends give it to you straight – they don’t water shit down! As for all you honest, trust-worthy people who don’t (often) swear: Start now. Increase gradually. I’m trying to. Update: Successfully . . .

*People Who Fucking Curse More Actually Make The Best Fucking Friends

~~~oo0oo~~~

Swearwords are good, descriptive, helpful words, and the criticism of them reminds me of the (equally ignorant) criticism of rap music. I did some reading on rap when Tommy first started getting into it. I must find that bit about the language rappers use. (to come . . . )

Ah, here it is: Back in 2011, New York-based data scientist and designer Matt Daniels thought of Shakespeare’s much-touted vast vocabulary and wondered how rap singers’ vocabularies compared. So he charted how many different words Shakespeare used in comparison to contemporary hip-hop artists. It turns out that a good handful of rappers use a greater vocabulary than Shakespeare did, for the same sized block of lyrics.

Daniels doesn’t draw the conclusion that today’s rappers are more creative and poetic than Shakespeare, but the implication hovers (and the Washington Post said it out loud – see link below).

If you’re wondering who has a bigger vocabulary — Shakespeare or rappers — here’s the quick answer in purely numerical terms. Rapper Aesop Rock used 7,392 unique words, and Wu-Tang Clan used 5,895 – against Shakespeare’s 5,170 unique words.

Daniels used a sample size of 35,000 words per artist. For the rappers, their first 35 000 words; for Shakespeare the first 5,000 words for these seven of his works: Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Macbeth, As You Like It, Winter’s Tale, and Troilus and Cressida. For author Herman Melville, he used the first 35,000 words of Moby Dick.

Now before old goats start leaping to Shakespeare’s defence (and reflect on Why The Fuck you’re doing that anyway!?), just Stop. Pause. Think. And admit that this info is surprising, and probably went against many oldies’ prejudices and SHOULD give them pause for thought. Rappers are our 21st century poets. You don’t have to like them, and today’s youth don’t have to like Willy Shakespeare.

Also see: Science proves it: Today’s rappers are more poetic than Shakespeare

~~~oo0oo~~~

The feature pic shows the old bank building in the main street in Apache, Oklahoma. Just behind it to the right is Stan’s fridge shop.

‘kinell!

Back when I was running around the country visiting SpecSavers stores and opening new ones, I found myself in the village of Waterval Boven in a hostelry with a lovely pub run by an Irishman. Waterval Boven is an amazing place – a rock-climbing mecca. I bought the book called something like “The Menu to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe” which listed all the climbs – dozens of them! This is not it, but similar:

Here are two of those climbs:

Waterval Boven.jpg
Waterval Boven falls

Isn’t that amazing!?

The publican and owner of the Shamrock Inn was a raconteur and a wit and a delight. Said his brother was famous on SABC radio (Paddy O’Byrne, I think?). Seeing me all on my own, he chatted to me, served me sherry and guiness, and taught me some Irish, of which I have never forgotten “‘kinell“.

As in ‘kinell! It’s short for Fucking Hell . . fuckin’ ‘ell . . ‘kinell.  A Pom might say ‘You don’t say!’ an American, ‘Beats me!’ – an Irishman will say ‘kinell!

His hostelry was special:

Waterval Boven Hotel.jpg

As is the whole village:

Waterval Boven village

So for one fun evening I had me own personal Irishman feed me guinness, old brown; and blarney; guinness, old brown; and blarney. Rinse and repeat. Marvelous evening.

~~oo0oo~~

Oh no! Chuck Berry Died!

JonDinDin Taylor promised (threatened?) to bring some Chuck Berry to a gathering to celebrate my ageing. I said that’ll keep the teenagers away.
I told him I’d seen Chuck live in concert in 1973 and that he was already over 40yrs old then. This prompted me go to wikipedia to see just how old he is.
He died yesterday aged 90!
Charles Edward AndersonChuckBerry (October 18, 1926 – March 18, 2017) was an American guitarist, singer and songwriter and one of the pioneers of rock and roll music. With songs such as ‘Maybellene’ (1955), ‘Roll Over Beethoven’ (1956), ‘Rock and Roll Music’ (1957) and ‘Johnny B. Goode’ (1958), Berry refined and developed rhythm and blues into the major elements that made rock and roll distinctive. Writing lyrics that focused on teen life and consumerism, and developing a music style that included guitar solos and showmanship, Berry was a major influence on subsequent rock music.
Here he is playing in 1973:

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame said: ‘While no individual can be said to have invented rock and roll, Chuck Berry comes the closest of any single figure to being the one who put all the essential pieces together. It was his particular genius to graft country and western guitar licks onto a rhythm and blues chassis in his very first single, “Maybellene”.
Berry contributed three things to rock music: an irresistible swagger, a focus on the guitar riff as the primary melodic element and an emphasis on songwriting as storytelling. John Lennon said, “If you tried to give rock and roll another name, you might call it ‘Chuck Berry’.” Ted Nugent said, “If you don’t know every Chuck Berry lick, you can’t play rock guitar.”
We’ll certainly play some Chuck Berry at our gathering. LOUD. Smoke the teenagers out!
~~oo0oo~~