something that still astounds us from our past is that not long after we moved to Bristol in the 80s, we had the chance to buy a pair of Natal congas (the best of congas) from some guy in London - a friend with a car helped us get them to the bus station, we put them in the storage on the bus, and when we got to Bristol, we fucking. carried them (in cases) two miles to where we lived, with the stands round our neck like some mediaeval torture instrument - like, how were we ever this fit
yes, there were a lot of rest breaks, and yes, the final 400 yards were all uphill ffs, and yes thank the drum gods, they were made of fibreglass and not wood, but it was so worth it, we had those congas for over a decade, we played them in a greek tragedy with dancing girls at Edinburgh Fringe, the BBC has video footage of our red-jeaned arse when our theatre troupe did some street advertising for our play, and we parked the congas on stone outside the National Gallery in Edinburgh while the girls danced for the public, and we were drumming standing on one leg, because we had to hold the two stands together with one of our feet because the stone was slippery and the congas repelled each other like magnets
