I was walking along a side road to the famous K' Road in Auckland around 8pm, heading back for dinner at 9. Passed a pub on a corner with tall windows all around two sides. Intrigued to see people arriving, most clutching an instrument. Went in and ordered a pint while waiting to see what the crack was. Didn't leave till 1am. What an amazing experience. Taking turns each musician did their own choice of number. Sometimes they were left to solo. Other times some or all of the rest jammed in. And such a range of music too. Tunes I knew. Tunes I didn't. Songs someone had written and was airing for the first time. A snippet of poetry. Folk. Bit of Classical. Acapella. All acoustic. A French girl, just visiting NZ, came in and sat at the bar. A guy who had just played a Tea Chest Bass asked her if she sang. Discovered she was a professional jazz singer in France. She was persuaded to take a turn and led every player through a very exciting jazz/rock number, encouraging some of the quieter ones to "balls it up, you guys". Awesome night. That's what I call a Thirsty Dog Night. Let's do it here. Wherever here is.
I am entangled in the strands of Wordnik’s drifting net. What, I wonder, is a Thirsty Dog Night? I see that there is a Thirsty Dog Brewing Company. Maybe there are folk who gather of an evening to consume their products; but what could such diversion have to do with rhymes or Vectian dogs? Maybe it’s a spectator sport, something like cock fighting or bear baiting, at which enthusiasts watch desiccated dogs fight over a bowl of water. I crave enlightenment.
A short while ago I posted a comment on the “doke” entry. The word basically denotes a small concavity. I particularly noted its use on the Isle of Wight to describe a dog's preparation for lying down, “to make his doke.” My wife was charmed to discover that there was an expression for this ritual spinning and urged a limerick on that theme. I, on the other hand, commenced to wonder if the Isle of Wight boasted an adjective like the Manx of the Isle of Man. I learned that the Roman name for the island was Vectis, and this does form an adjective that gets some use:
Recall that poor dog turning so tight Making his doke on the Isle of Wight? The rotating mutt Left chasing his butt Is a Vectian pooch if you label him right.