Entry for December 21, 2006

My pal Allan was telling me that he's got a drumkit for his son's Christmas. This clearly shows how cool my generation of fathers is. His son will unquestionably be the most popular child in the class for some months, and if he proves to have any talent, it will be a passport to many happy hours in some crappy garage band throughout his teens.
The gift of the drums has made me somewhat teary-eyed though, because they were donated by my pal Alistair, who was the drummer in Jokers Wild - my own crappy garage band. The gift of the drums seems to mark the end of an era. Over the past few weeks one of the band has emigrated to the United Arab Emirates, and now our drummer is drumless. It is very sad.
I appreciate that we have not played together for 9 years 5 months (and I'm talking about the classic line up here; not the Mark II Jokers Wild featuring Feedback Dickson and The Replacement Keyboard Player Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken). However until now it has felt that we were only a phone call away from Arches Studio (so maukit it made your bogies black within an hour) and a stirring rendition of "Friday Night Split Personality".
Now, I fear those days are gone. The drumstick has been passed from one generation to the other in some ritual relay that must pass back through many generations. In my mind's eye I can see some Pictish shaman handing over the Bodran to his shaggy haired boy, who immediately became the hippest dude in Scapa Flow, for his own all too brief teenage years.
The drums have gone! Do you hear me? The drums have gone. And with them my youth, my dreams, and an important part of my very soul.
The drums have gone!!!! They are in the attic of the wrong house, soon to be beaten by the wrong hands, thrumming to a strange new rhythm that will drive me to grumble: "What is that racket? Call that music? It's just a noise."
The drums have gone.....