Everything begins somewhere.
So said the slogan at the top of the flyer. I couldn’t believe my luck when the latest festival organisers decided upon my town to hold their next weekend concert, and I put our name down on the list of players as soon as I could.
OK, we didn’t get the best slot, one ’til three on the Sunday afternoon… and we weren’t on the main stage, but we were happy. And being on the corner stage was handy as it was near to the car park. OK, it was in the corner of the car park, but we had a slot and could get ourselves seen on the scene.
After Loganberry, we knew we’d get a record deal. Open to up and coming acts, the flyer said.
We could hear the main stage from where we were, and tried our best to be heard; tried our best to entertain the crowd of at least fourteen who were milling around to watch us.
I really sang my heart out. Uncle Stanley played a few duff notes, and Cousin Shirley played her organ a little too quickly, but we performed well.
Uncle Stanley said we needed a better name for the band, something with more oomph. I said no. And Jordan was catchy enough.
I still blame the Loganberry Festival organisers for things not going as well as they should have.
They should’ve made sure we were inside, and at the right place, before we started playing…
Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr. They provide a photo, and we provide a… something… up to 250 words.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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