Weds Evening 6.30 pm
Walk, sheepskin coat, 24 Hour Church of Elvis T-shirt (Original green version still in one piece)KilkennyEvening standard (Diana & Charles in different stories but on front page)
StellaLog fire
Evelynska pokes the fire between pulling pints of Guinness
Pool with Bob Mason
Two- one to him
Chelsea BarcelonaTwo- one to themJ
ohn West breezes in
StellaLoud jukebox Nashville
Merton High Street
Overcast cold but dry
AdchayaTamil restaurant
Sara- man (long curly hair like a Tiger) used to be best chef at Yhaal HouseHe cooks mutton khottu in two minutes
Waiter fills another customer’s plastic bag full of bonda, wuddie & onion bhajeeLike Lowestoft in 1973
When one ordered chips and end of service and got fish’n’chips
(“Soft chips or crispy chips?”)
We cross road
Jump low fence
High Path Estate
Princess Royal
Like a saterlite Who Killed Kenny Irish outpost
Black & white Staffordshire terrier
Still a proper old scruffy pub’
StellaPeter Hungry Grass
Irish singing unaccompanied
His girlfriend says she liked my Pepper
Dark rum
Walk back to Datsun 280ZX
Road name sign looks like someone’s sat on it
Instead of rectangle shape is rhomboid
See if I can bend it further, I can’t!
Drive to 163
JW drops me off
Wave him goodbye
Dying for a wee
Freezing cold
No key!
Locked out
Can’t raise Marguerite
Wee in baths car park
Walk round to cab company near Confucius
Car to Tooting Junction
‘Phone from public ‘phone box
Flat door unbolted and I go in

Thurs morning
11.30 amRain, cold, east wind
Clothes from last night“Star Cabs” car to 163
Get in house and go out again to shop for milk for Marguerite at Tesco garage
Back at home
Put tenor ukulele in baritone ukulele carrying cover (black zip-up)
Walk to Wimbledon station
Cold, sleety, Grey Crombie coat
Purchase £4-30 TravelcardAll zones except “one”(Which is the grockle-filled central bit and no one in real-London ever goes there)
Pint of Fosters in the newly re-furbished Prince of Whales
Thank the gods they haven’t ruined this one this time
Blue train to Kingston
Winter showers down on train windows
Raynes Park, New Malden, Norbiton (rather like Dawlish station sans sea)
Cross the road outside Kingston station with hordes of people
Pedestrians with no idea of how to walk along a pavement
As if fused at the shoulder, ignorami
Students with colour boxes on their heads in main street filming art project
Apple Market
Hogsmill River, police station, it’s the road to Cholmley Terrace
Music shop gone!
Become estate agents
How appropriate in this ever more material world
It was there a year ago!
Circle round to check I haven’t missed shop (I know I haven’t!)
Walk through Mall to Eden StreetSite of shop where Dymore first worked
Half of Strongbow in the Wheelwrights’ Arms
57 ‘Bus
Go round the corner where the Kingston Hotel and dirty films cinema was
Kingston Hospital, can’t see a single original piece of building from thirty years ago
Coombe Lane, ridiculous cycle path
Raynes ParkRaynes Park Hotel (another half of Strongbow & a wee)
Raynes Park StationTrain to WimbledonTrain via Haydon’s Road to Tooting
Frozen drizzle falls out the low grey cloud
Arrive at flat
Mary reminds me of music shop at Abbey Mill
Walk through the back streets
Sleet turns to flaky snow that settles on my coat but not the pavement
The area that used to be the Savacentre/ Market car park It now resembles the outskirts of Seattle or Salzburg
Apartment blocks, Burger King Drive-In, brick road pavement
Enter music shop
Acoustic six string devils, banjos, mandolins, violins, student instruments
Splattering of small Fender amps & cheap electrics
Percussion, music stands
Gormless young male shop assistant (sounds antipodean)
Speak to Lisa
She seems to know her stuffBuy new tuning pegs for tenor ukulele
Grovers £9-99Also purchase cutest case you’ve ever seen.
For treble uke (or is it soprano or concert?)
Walk to 163: cold, wet snow
Check on Marguerite
Put treble uke in new case
Walk to South Wimbledon with case & uke
Tube to Tooting Broadway
Snow has turned back to sleet
‘Bus to the flat
Put new tuners on tenor
Job simpler than I had envisaged
Must find voice of this instrument
An hour later catch train to Peckham Rye
Getting dark
Walk in rain and cold wind to shop
Wheeze up the flights of old stairs
Get new fresh air
Peckham high street cold and dark, lights twinkle stridently
Yam, snapper, Jeyes fluid
Train to Streatham
Pint of Young’s Bitter in Bedford Park
Sit by coal fire
Train back to Tooting
Stand on balcony and have first breath of good fresh air for a week
Leg & feet ache from walking
Stella in Railway Bell, Les, Simon
Talk to Jethro and Rick
“Yes, I haven’t listened to your CD yet!”
Chinese food from Grace’s
Old fashioned slow service
Hong Kong sweet & sour chicken, roast duck & rice, shrimps chow mein- £11-70
Free prawn crackers have no taste except sweet
Bottle of Lambrusco 4%, 99p from Lidl
Watch episode of sit-com about Earl’s list
On comfortable sofa drift off to contented sleep…

Friday
Wimbledon
Cheerful early morning knock at door (8am)
Plasterer, buckets, dust sheets, Radio One, whistling, work, bosh, bosh, bosh…
He leaves suddenly at ten thirty, job done as far as he can, return & finish Monday…
Call drummer for ETA
Usual sort of one or two hour delays
Call Mary
Concider pub & paper
But routine shattered by departure
Mary arrives
See the plaster and the garden
Rick finally arrives
Car chock-a-block
Kingston by pass
Heathrow band demo
A3 M25
We chase the sun down the
M3
A303
Watery sunshine
Question mark shaped woods, brown, black
The new innocuous Kate Bush album
Crows, starlings
Yhaal House vegetable roti
Stonehenge, the Bell at Winterbourne Stoke, the Eagle is closed
Newcott Chef just as they are closing, cup of tea, pints of cider (Strongbow and Blackthorn)Thousands on a raft for the drummer
Large fancy goldfish
Sun spectra, plane condensation trails in shape of a fish
Exeter rush hour, M6, A30
Car lights, city shimmers with sodium on our horizon
Jubilee Terrace
Waggy shiny black dog
Robin Sara Mary stay at house to come down later
Drummer & I go on to Redwing
Martin pulling up as we arrive!
Take everything off cars, haul into pub
Set up in the familiar bijou-ness that is the Redwing
Mr.Moir very subdued (still recovering from last weekend?!)
Sound check
Change t-shirt
Blind Dog, Magoo, Julie, Bryony, Jim, Lady Di…Meaning of Life and rest of first show
Mary, Sara, Robin arrive, Bing
Wiggy Stardust
“We’re gonna take a five minute break. So, we’ll see you in half an hour”
Carpark, Fresh air
Second set
Sara’s spot
All the usuals
The smell of brown leather
Put stuff away, carry it out, load the vehicles
Walk with Mary to Jubilee Terrace
More fresh air, beer, port, party
Ukulele music, Weller music
Mary, the Captain & Bing slumber upstairs in the guest bedroomsI sleep with dog on floor in conservatory

Saturday
LympstoneRead the Exmouth Journal and the pamphlet-like Lympstone Journal
Narnia, MRSA, new house building
Mary takes to the bath, I take to the Saddlers for a livener
Fresh air
Thence to the post office
Guardian
Red Wing
Mr.Moir writing out the quiz and telling parrot jokes
Mary arrives and we go to boat shelter
Tide way out
Grey water, seabirds, beached boats, grey-brown mud, shingle mixed with the mudShe stands on harbour wall, large black shawl covering her head, cold breeze protection
It’s a Lyme Regis cob film image
I’m on the mud, a hundred yards out looking back at her up there, still have the dry clay mud on my shoes two days later
Catch the train to XMF
I say I’d like a ticket from Lympston Village to Exmouth and then a return from Exmouth to DawlishTrain man thinks about it
At Exmouth he says just get a ticket from Exmouth to Dawlish
(at least in Devon he didn’t think I meant Dulwich)
Fish’n’chips at Capels
Haddock, chips, mushy peas, pickled onion, egg and gerkin
Visit Oxfam shop: buy Rutles and first CSN on vinyl
Go to the prom
Mary on beach
Me in the Beach (and the Grove)
Walk back to station via dock-side
Horrible road furniture- 70’s street lamps
Catch train to St.Davids
No wait for train to Dawlish
Train goes through fields and then breaks out onto estuary side at Starcross
High tide, piers, jetties, grey sky and water
Admire the view of XMF from the otherside
The new coloured buildings around the dock certainly enhance XMF’s appearance
Red Rock
Alight at Dawlish
Marine station
Big victorian rivets on footbridge
Jeyes Fluid strongly in the air
Brewery Bar, order car
Car takes us to Two Farthings for five pounds
Rick asleep on sofa
Bing in Kitchen
Slight rehearsal in living roomI travel with Martin Mary travels with Rick
Bing stays at the homestead
Drive through the woods to the main road
Arrive at the car park in XMF
The Barrell is adjacentRick/ Mary arrive
We load in the gear, set it up litany
Concern over new noise level limiter (cuts off juice if music too loud)
Sound check- no trouble!
Usual suspects drift inPut on brown suit and green turban
First set: much as last night but no Rockaway Beach
Rick & I try hard to switch the device
Interval: go out to Pound Street for usual fresh air
Second set
Sara’s section
Mary joins us all for Happy Together
Mary does Regrets (in Dm and not Am) and Reachout ( in C not A or Bb)
End of show
Beer!
Speak to the pub’ manager and he is very pleased
Can’t believe how loud other bands must be to trip the cut-out
Take off suit and put on Levis and blue suede cuban heel Beatle boots
Walk back to Blind Dog and Rachel’s
More beer, fresh air, G six string devil, harp and ukulele music
Martin leaves relatively early and drives home to Dawlish
Five AM (?) get cab to Jubilee TerraceGet a bed tonight…

Sunday
Lympstone
Cab into XMF and meet Robin, Sara, Blind Dog and the drummer in Franklins
Venue for first ever FW gig in this illustrious town
Plaice goujons, Budweiser, smoked salmon and scrambled egg on toast
Walk round to Blind Dog/ Rachel’s house
Fresh air
Load up Rick’s car
Leave at about three
Drive north-eastward into the darkening countryside, golden sun behind us
Stop on A303 for chocolate, Red Bull and junk food
Arrive in Tooting about seven
Go to Yhaal House: special biriany and vegetarian chef’s special plus bottle of Necto

Friday
7am, Mary’s flat in SW17, bath, nearly light
Cram bag with old shoes, wear new monkeys; still hurting
Booted and packed (shoulder bag and baritone uke), Mary wheels suitcase with handle and tiny casters like an old lady’s shopping trolley
Take in the view and the fresh air on the balcony
9.20 We trundle out of Tooting- Watery sunshine, Streatham, Tuls-ee Hill, Herne Hill, Brockwell Park
Elephant & Castle, Blackfriars, Farringdon, King’s Cross
Walk down Euston Road, Australian, South Afrikan, Polski
The same Euston concourse
Platform three
As ever past new Wembley Stadium, through Watford, the neat autumn countryside of Bedfordshire
Pause at Rugby, Crewe, Warrington, Wigan, names from the north more rugby than Rugby
Preston Station- big bright busy
Walk through dirty subway and out into street
Shopping trolley suitcase keeps falling over
Pint in the Railway Pub
Walk through hideous shopping mall to find incense shop
Bright sunshine, unremarkable town, lovely lurcher tied up outside shop
Decide on earlier train
Speedily heel luggage back to station
Up and down two footbridges inside Preston Station
Rush to get branch line train with the locals
Chug-chug-chug went the blue two diesel carriage rail car like something by the Rev Audry
Show the conductor our tickets
Through non-descript suburbs and warehouses
Green and brown lumpy hillsides
Straight streets of terraces
Sunny enough for shades
Train about half full, no one standing
Chavs and Muslim women
Look for the three thousand nine hundred and ninety nine other holes in Blackburn Lancashire after spotting a big one next to the track there…
Everywhere looks the same
Semi urban, semi rural, messy, pylons, main roads, bleak corner pubs, northern grime
We arrive at Rishton
Reminds me of the Phipps Bridge tram stop
Another Railway pub, still closed at three PM on a Friday afternoon!
Wee in the vicarage garden
Catch bus, nearly empty
Next stop a thousand school kids in dark blue
Old fashioned uniforms
Shouting and effing and blinding in that embarassing teenage way
Reach the town of Great Harwood
Looks like Trumpton, all old buildings (except the very new and blue Co-op supermarket)
Rows of large brick terraces, brown and black
The young passengers mainly left the bus by the time we disembark and wrestle our luggage onto the pavement
Walk to Frank’s house
Go straight to Blackburn with Frank in his car
Leave Mary unpacking
Go to multi-storet car park and then through into an shopping mall that looks like the Whitgift Centre at Croydon
We go to a “record shop” and buy DVD’s
“Brief Encounter”, “The Third Man”, black and white
This is all I see of Blackburn
Back in Great Harwood walk down to newsagents and buy Lancashire Evening Post
This disguises me as a local, no visitor would normally stroll in the Walmesly Arms with such a publication.
£2-30 for a pint of wife beater.
Walk to the Royal Hotel with Mary
Large pub at end of long terrace
Brews its own beer, try mild, tastes terrible
Drink draught Red Stripe
Tropical marine, clown fish (red & white), damsel fish (blue) in corner of bar
Listen to two bars of live band, withdraw to bar with fish in
Saturday
Showery morning
Can’t get a Guardian!
Make do with the Torygraph
Read it in the Plough and the Royal
Walk up town, suddenly realise that place is smaller than I thought!
Drive to Nelson with Frank and Mary
More hills, pylons and small bleak towns
See the new house with a rainbow over it
Visit two antique warehouses
Buy a 50’s. 60’s or 70’s glass candlestick holder
Walk through Great Harwood with Mary
Pound shop, Crossed Axes pub, half in the Plough
Afternoon snooze
Drive to Oswaldtwistle with Mary, Frank and a drummer called Lex
Can’t find the gig
The Weavers Institute in Lock Street
Bright! Like a church hall, tables and chairs around periphery
Crucifix and Mary of Nazareth
Very old fashioned, very cheap, very straight
Open Mic NiteGet up and do a couple with Frank and Mary, me on baritone uke
Crazy Arms, Who Will Buy The Wine
Also loud bedroom BlooZ guitar player
Visit local pub for fresh air
Go back to Frank’s
Sunday
Cloudy, showery, grey but mild
Starting to look forward to going back to London
Purchase Sunday Times
Read it in the pub (the Royal)
Sit around at Frank’s
Go out to the Lomax and the Merrie England
Listen to a white local using the words “paki” and “nigger” with no embarrassment
Miss the trip to visit house in Nelson
Speak to Daisy and Henry and their mother
They have grown up!
Mary & Frank return
Go and get “curry” from take-away called Megna
Look in music shop window
Student acoustics and cheap electrics
Sweet yellow dhansak
Plain yellow rice
Sleep in the chair
Miss 10.30 in pub
Monday
Buy last Guardian (or maybe only Guardian!) from Co-op
Read in the Plough
They must think I’ve moved to town
Back at house pack up bag
Bus to Rishton, train to Preston, Virgin Express to Euston
Arrive in London about four PM
Pint in pub near station
Idiot football supporters
Walk to King’s Cross
Train to Tooting, fabulous Tooting…

So you are home at last after our west Country adventure!! What a week it was!! Here is a summary of what I remember happening.

Friday 6 August 1999.

John West and I were going to pick you up from John Pollard’s at Midnight but we were delayed at the Shannon’s Corner Petrol Station. This was due to the valve in the front off-side tyre of John West’s Datsun 280ZX becoming broken when he was checking the tyre pressures and we had to fit the spare.

Saturday 7 August 1999.

We finally collected you at about 1.30 am and set off for Cornwall. We drove down the A3 turned right onto the M25. We then took the M3 turn off and proceeded to it’s end where it branches to the A303. We drove past Stonehenge in the dark and it was not visible. You went to sleep somewhere on the M3 and didn’t wake until it was getting light. By that time we had touched onto the M5 between Taunton and Exeter (where there were three lanes of traffic traveling “chock-a-block” at about fifty miles an hour like the M25 in the rush hour, except this was four in the morning!!) and transferred onto the A30. This is the road that took us through the dawn , across Dartmoor and straight into Launceston.
We arrived at Vicki’s just as she was getting up (about 6 am) and she fixed us very welcome tea and bacon sandwiches. We then tried to get some sleep but I found I only slept fitfully despite being up and awake all night.
Vicki’s teashop is situated in the ground floor of a terraced building approximately four hundred years old. It’s very quaint and rambling. There are four floors. We shared a room in the top floor (attic) where there were two single beds, a drum kit, two guitars, a CD collection and various musical amps and electronic and tape recorders.
Later in the day we had a walk around town. Launceston is built on a hill and has many narrow and steep streets. There is a castle (ruined) on the top of the hill and an old medieval gate house. This gate house was visible from our bedroom window. There is a market square, a very ornate church, shops, pubs and hotels. Opposite Vicki’s (The Mad Hatter’s Tea Shop) is a branch of W.H.Smith’s. They had a large display of eclipse viewers and we purchased some straight away lest there should be a shortage nearer the big day!! They were also selling 35mm camera film (200 ASA), suitable for your camera, at 99p each, so we bought a bunch of them as well!!! We photographed most of the town. We walked through a park which gave us a good view of the surrounding area and also wandered down to a pub called “The Railway Inn”. It was near here we discovered the Launceston Steam Railway. But on this first day we didn’t pay it too much attention. We came across a musical instrument shop called Tottles. We purchased a Jew’s Harp also known as a Jaw Harp and a Kazoo. We also had a chat with the two blokes in the shop about music and bands and such like.
We returned to Vicki’s shop and later in the afternoon, you, me and John West went to the Launceston Fryers. This is an award winning fish and chip shop. I had haddock and chips, I believe you did too!! It was very good!!!!
When the tea shop closed, you set up your Play Station, and you (and to a lesser degree I) played with it until you went to bed. When you had gone to bed, Vicki kept an eye on you and John and I went off for couple of pints.

Sunday 8 August 1999

You got up earlier than me and went down to the shop and busied yourself helping Vicki and the girls in the shop. At noon I went and bought the Sunday Times, left you in John and Vicki’s capable hands and adjourned to the “Bell Inn” for half an hour to read the aforesaid rag and have a pint.
On my return we had another wander around town, and this time went and looked at the Steam Railway. It was a narrow gauge mining railway. It went from the rather quaint station to a field four miles up the road. I asked you if you wanted to go for a ride but (surprisingly!!) you declined. We did, however, have a jolly good look around. There was a splendid workshop with rails running right through it. It was crammed with rusting bits of locomotives and lathes and machinery. On a mezzanine floor was a collection of ancient motor bikes and even a harmonium. It was one of those places that had almost accidentally turned into a museum. The buildings were very attractive and the rails run out the back into long grass and undergrowth where we could see even more abandoned trucks and locomotives. There was also a very friendly grey and white cat.
In the station building itself was a tea shop. We stopped for a drink and a cake. We then went in the souvenir shop and looked at their wares. You said they had more Ertl Thomas the Tank Engine models than you had seen before. We chatted to the old fellow who ran the shop and also the lady train driver (who had a proper old fashioned style train driver’s flat peaked cap on).
We also dropped in at “The Launceston Arms” (“the cheapest bar in Cornwall”, it says on a poster outside!). This place was a bit rough, but very friendly, as were most of the non-tourist places.
We returned to the Mad Hatter’s and when the shop closed, we set off for Vicki’s boyfriend Trevor’s bungalow. He lives in a village called Lawhitton some five miles outside Launceston. Here we had a barbecue. Him being a butcher is very handy when cooking such a meal!! Lots of meat!!!! After we had eaten we watched the magnificent sunset and then counted the stars, one by one, as they came out in a wonderfully large and dark sky. We returned to the tea shop and went to bed.

Monday 9 August 1999

A relatively non-eventful day. You spent the morning running errands for Vicki, the bakers, Trevor’s butcher shop etcetera. In the afternoon we went and had lunch at “The White Hart Hotel”. This was the big hotel on the market square. We stood out like a sore thumb, you and me. A long haired middle aged man and a eleven year old boy wearing a leather motor bike jacket in a dining room full of old ladies in grey perms and old men in loose grey suits. You had the beef pie and chips which on the face of it looked and tasted better than the roast chicken and veg. I had. Naturally we tried a bit of each others dinners!! But at £2-50 a portion it was quite reasonable priced.
Later on you played with the Play Station and when you had gone to bed (with Vicki also gone to bed) John and I nipped out to the cheapest bar in Cornwall for a late night tipple.
Tuesday 10 August 1999

We went out for a walk round town and went to the “Northgate Inn”. This was the pub that was like someone’s front room. There were two friendly dogs. One was a black Labrador, the other a wiry grey haired lurcher type. The old chap to whom the dog belonged to told us the dog was quite old. In this place, which was the most old fashioned we saw all week, was a table covered with a thick cloth for playing dominoes on. It also had proper pub outside toilet right at the back!!!
On return to Vicki’s you did some drawings of Star War characters on the PC. You also wrote a letter to yourself about your thoughts and gave it to me to look after because you want to see it again when you are twenty years old. I have it safely in my stuff at 163.
Later in the afternoon, we packed our bags and set off for Bodmin in John’s car. Bodmin is about twenty five miles further down Cornwall and of course was in the Totality Zone (unlike Launceston). On the way we witnessed a collision between a farm pick up truck and a car. We saw the smoke ahead of us as the pick up braked, but it smashed into the car side on and both vehicles ended up in the bank at the side of the road. We stopped and I ran back. I was the first on the scene. You and John were not far behind. The driver of the farm vehicle was OK and had a mobile ‘phone. The people in the car were still in it. I asked if there was anything we could do to help, but the chap said, “No”. We returned to our car and continued. Further down the road we saw emergency services rushing in the opposite direction, presumably to assist.
As we approached the Totality Zone there were lots of camp sites and viewing places set up, especially near Jamaica Inn.
In Bodmin we saw the railway station (another steam railway!!) and the town. There seemed to be a buzz, because at last we were going see the Eclipse!!!
Vicki’s Mother (Val) has a three bedroomed semi on the outskirts of town. It was painted yellow with blue windows and doors. We went in and sat around. Later on some of Vicki’s family arrived with a baby and a bit later still Vicki and Trevor came. We spent time walking the kittens in the garden on a harness. You came unstuck when you put one on the trunk of a tree and ended up with a kitten on a lead stuck up a tree!!! You, me and John went for a walk around town and visited the Debtors Gaol. It featured a stuffed lion in a window and a bar. And, yes, the lion was real!!!! On the way back to Val’s we saw the Bodmin Gaol where the last public hanging took place in about 1860. They like their prisons and law and order in Cornwall!!!!
Eventually Rick (Ding) Bell arrived. He always gets lost where ever he goes and this day was no exception!!! We dined on Cornish pasties brought from Launceston and sat around a bit more. They watched TV, we got a bit bored. Val said that the women should used the upstairs toilet and the men, the downstairs one. I asked where it was and she said in the “Piazza”!! She meant the hallway between the back door and her garage. We all smiled. Later on we left you with Vicki and Val. This was so John, Rick, a young chap from Vicki’s shop called Will and I could go to the off licence. We left at about 9.30. We were asked to bring back some chocolate and Budweisers. By the time we got back you had all gone to bed and we were not very popular!!!!!
Anyway everyone “crashed out” on the floor. I let you have the duvet to lay on as the garden chair you had was not very comfortable. I slept with the kittens in the “piazza”!!!!

Wednesday 11 August 1999

At last the great day arrived. I got up at six am as I was cold and uncomfortable. I went out into town , bought a Guardian newspaper and read it outside the railway station for about an hour. I returned to the house and had a cold pasty for breakfast. You got up and had breakfast with Val and Vicki.
Eventually, after a lot of procrastination, we started walking up to Bodmin Beacon. Bodmin Beacon is a tall hill some two miles outside the town. It has a large needle shaped monument at the top built by the Victorians to commemorate I don’t know what. But it’s very impressive!!!! We arrived with thousands of other people and there was a slight carnival atmosphere with jugglers juggling fire, people having picnics and so forth. They was a great feeling of apprehension in the air. This was about an hour or so before the totality. At this early stage it was not too cloudy and by using the eclipse viewer I saw the very start of the partial. Then the thick clouds came over and everyone thought we would see nothing.
As 11.11am approached the apprehension grew to a crescendo. Right up to the last second everyone was looking up, hoping for a break or a thinning in the cloud. But there wasn’t one. Some clouds formed strange shapes, like the clouds in a Speilberg movie. You said it looked like a skeleton backbone and ribs!! Then suddenly at 11.11am on the dot it started getting slightly darker. Then it got increasingly darker as if all the light of the world was running away down an imaginary plug hole. It was like someone rapidly turning down a dimmer switch that was connected to all the daylight in the world. I remember seeing you quickly fade away into the gloominess. Then it got cold and was as dark as mid night. The road lights came on on the hills opposite. The dark approached as they said it would. The horizon went peachy the darkness was purply. It was quite overwhelming. People cheered and shouted, flash lights on cameras automatically cut in as they took pictures of each other, they were fire works, even some red flares floating in the distant darkness. It only lasted a minute but it actually felt longer and you wondered if the light was ever going to come back. No wonder the ancient peoples thought an eclipse was the end of the world!!!!!!
Then the darkness lifted and the world rapidly returned to normal. All I could do was hug you. It had been fantastic, better than I thought it would be, considering it was overcast and we were not going to see the sun itself with the corona, Bailey’s beads, the diamond ring effect and so forth. It was like a foreboding energy came down, engulfed us, and then rushed away. Afterwards many people seemed quite shocked by the power of it all, I know I was!!! Some were crying, some were smiling.
I said, “Well that was it, let’s go!!” and we did, with Will, straight to the pub!!!!! We sat in the pub for about half an hour and talked about what we had seen. We took some photos (which I hope come out). Then we returned to Val’s. We watched the news reports of the eclipse and waited until Rick was ready to leave. We had to go back to Vicki’s in Launceston to pick up our bags etcetera. We had a jam free journey back to the teashop which is not what we expected. We thought there would be thousands and thousands leaving after the eclipse.
Anyway we got to the Tea Shop and rick gave Will a lift home. We thought it would take about five minutes but it took about an hour. Rick had to meet his mum and look at his record collection!!!! At last we got away.
You, Rick and me drove straight to Exmouth , to the house we were staying at. The house belonged to a woman called Di. When we pulled into the drive the blue band van was already there. We had tea and you met both Di and Martin. We sorted out the sofabed in the conservatory and unpacked our bags. Di’s house was a large detatched Victorian mansion. She and her mother (who was away) live on the ground floor. Soon it was time to leave for the gig. We put Rick’s and my stuff in the van and set off for Exeter. That’s about ten miles up the road.
We arrived at the pub and the manager greeted you, shking your hand and saying, “You must be the new bass player!!”. He was very friendly. We unloaded the van and started setting up the equipment. You soon got the idea of what that consists of. Guitar amps, speakers, lights, instruments, cables. You helped Rick assemble his drum kit, taking them out of thier cases and handing him the components. Once everything was set up, we had to check it all worked. We check each channell on the mixing desk individualy and then all togethher, then the lights. This is called “the sound check”. Soon it was time to start playing. We changed into our stage costumes, went onto the stage and started. There were a few people the band knew there. You met them before I did as I have only just joined the band and haven’t played in Devon before. During the break we had a drink and a chat. We then did the second set and suddenly the show was over. There were not a terriffic amount of people in to see us that night but we did play quite well concidering it was the first time we’d played for about two weeks.
Then as the audience were leaving and the pub closing, we had to change our clothes, un-patch (un-plug) all the cables, put the instruments (including the drums) away and load the van with everything. Then we had one last drink with the manager and did “the last look”. That’s when you check the stage area for any small item (plectrm, plug, guitar tuner or whatever) that may have been forgotten. Sometimes a small item can be as important as larger ones when it comes to making all the stuff work properly and at the end of the evening when you are tired it is easy to overlook things.
Finally we drove back to Di’s. You were sat in the back of the van with the equipment. We got back and went in. After a short chat I saw you to your bed. You gave me a hug and said it had been about the best day of your life!!! It had been about the best day of my life as well but I’m pleased you said , my son!!!!! Two minutes later when I had been to the toilet, I came back to check if you were OK and you were “out like a light”.
Martin, Rick, Di, her daughter and I sat up into the night doing what we call “Putting the world to rights”. That just means sitting up drinking and talking. I came to bed, sharing with you, but I had to get out and sleep on the floor because of all your thrashing around. I was so tired I slept like a log!!!!!

Thursday 12 August 1999

We got up. Rick, who was sleeping on the floor in the same room, had gone for a run. He does this everyday. His hobby is long distance ruuning and he has run in many Marathons including the London Marathon.

Hello to all my hunnies!

Please bear with this; it does get interesting, honest!!!!

Weds 12 June 2002
I caught the train to Peckham Rye and met up with James. We strolled
down to a pub called the Heaton arms. This is a typical large Edwardian pub. It
is a bit run down but is warm and friendly. In the big room at the back there
are some pool tables and large comfy sofas. I got in the Guinness and
Stella Artois and awaited the arrival of our mate, T, who joined us for a quick beer.

On leaving the pub, James went to the shop and spent £10 while I sat under a tree
in the small park at the start of Peckham Rye Common and waited for James to
join me. He said that as he walked across the park towards me I looked like a Buddha
contemplating the meaning of London?

We then got the bus to Catford. It is a short walk to John West's gaff. At John's house we sat and had a beer with him and his girlfriend Hong. Hong is off to her native Vietnam soon for a holiday with her father and other family. On this evening she left us to go to work. A little later John and James and I climbed in John's old Datsun ZX280 (or is it 280ZX?!) and hit the South London traffic lanes. In ten minutes we were parked up outside the Railway Bell in Tooting. We put the world to rights and consumed more alcohol.

After the pub closed John dropped James and myself off at my house. James and I
sat up and played guitars for a while and he crashed in my spare room for the night.

Thurs 13 June 2002
This was a quiet day. The calm before the storm? At about nine in the evening I announced that I was 'Going out for a pint' and my mother, Marguerite asked if she could come. So, with her holding on to my arm we walked through the pleasant evening air down to the Marquis of Lorne for a pint of Stella Artois and a Gin and tonic respectively. She said it was a bit loud in there (it does rather resemble a gay club in Ibiza sometimes!) so we went to the Who Killed Kenny Arms for the second. This was more to her octogenarian taste with it's Irish music and rowdy clientele. These trips to the pub with my mother happen once or twice a year and are always more enjoyable in practice than I expect!!

Fri 14 June 2002
I caught the train from Earlsfield to Clapham Junction and thence to Victoria. It was warm but overcast. I walked the additional half mile to the coach station. It was incredibly hot in the waiting area and very, very busy!! After about twenty minutes waiting the coach from Exeter arrived and I saw Mawendy disembark. She looked lovely! She had a medium sized shoulder bag and a 'shopping trolley' suitcase with retractable handle and two casters. We headed back to Victoria Railway Station. The suitcase falling off its wheels every time there was a turn or a bump in the pavement. By now it was the heart of the rush hour. Luckily I had purchased Mawendy's train ticket earlier. We got the train to Wimbledon and took a walk to my house. I showed her around, we had a cup of tea and some fresh air and she unpacked her luggage.
After a couple of hours we went out for some food. We caught the tube to Tooting and went up the busy pavement. We went in a Pakistani place called Nemat
Kadhir Karahi. I ordered Haleem and Nan, Wendy ate Lamb Tikka masala
and Pillau rice. I introduced her to Mango lassie!!!
We jumped on the tube back to South Wimbledon and grabbed a beer in
the Who Killed Kenny Arms and then popped into the Grove and saw
Dymore, Charlie and the others sound check their Musthang Sally band. He said he
would put us and our friends on the door for later. The bar is open until 1 am
(late for London!!). Then we went back to my house and watched TV. We were
supposed to go to the Grey Horse in Kingston-Upon-Thames to see Rebecca and Alun's band, Good Men In The Jungle, but had an early night instead, as we were
knackered!! I believe Mssrs Bell, John West and Hong went to the gig.

Sat 15 June 02
We got up. I packed my small bag and bass guitar. We got a cab to Wimbledon Station. We caught the train to Clapham Junction and then to Gatwick.
We sorted out the airport stuff and the Easyjet plane flew to Schipol
Airport, Amsterdam. At Schipol train Station I had the only bit of 'being abroad'
frustration that I experienced the whole time away. That was with the train
ticket machine. There is no ticket office, no real people to ask, just this
machine that was as incomprehensible as the ones in London but these
have Dutch writing on them. It was the only Dutch writing I saw in all of Holland
without a translation along side it and in an international train station!! We
had to get change for train ticket machine and so we had to spend a few Euros on
a cup of Coffee and a small beer. Finally we boarded the double deck train and
cruised through the Nederland's suburbs towards Amsterdam. We caught a cab to
the hotel. The room overlooked a canal and was rather nice and quiet. We could see (and hear!) coots, heron and other birds. The water was very clean and pleasant.
We walked into town and got used to crossing the road. Not only does the traffic come down the wrong side of the road (the right) but one has to look out for bicycles and trams, both of which are a law unto themselves.
We breezed in the Abraxas coffeeshop. There was a very helpful and friendly man behind counter. It was very relaxing and I felt quite at home!!!
The weather in Amsterdam was warm but rather showery. Later we had
some good priced Chinese food. I had duck meat and rice with jasmin tea. After
that we had a beer and headed back to the hotel for an early night. It had been a
long and full day.

Sun 16 Jun 02
At breakfast the next morning, Mawendy spotted Tørbjorn. He greeted us
with a handshake but was not very chatty. He was with another guy.
All was revealed later, which I explain anon!
The breakfast was a buffet style thing. We had (among other things) apple
puree, yoghurt, salami, cheese, small Frankfurter like sausages, apple
juice, apricot jelly/ jam, hard boiled eggs in the shell.
That afternoon a six-hour rehearsal was planned with the Advent Warriors.
We met Tørbjorn at the front of the hotel. I went with him in a cab to meet
the others.
Mawendy disappeared into the sunshine and the Centrum of Amsterdam.
The rehearsal studio was a revelation. Is was on one of the long islands
that lie in the water adjacent to the city. I noticed the tramline looped round
just outside, so this place was easily reachable from anywhere in town.
As one enters, it has the appearance of a bar or club. There was a counter/ bar
serving beers and food, a tabled area and a stage area opposite complete with PA
and drum kit et cetera. There were about fifteen rehearsal rooms behind there
and right at the other end of the complex another stage area. They also have an
equipment hire section and various music teachers available.
The outcome is that you can rehearse there, order food or drinks from
the bar (noon- 2am!) and have it all put on the bill. You can rent a guitar,
have a lesson and arrange a gig. Lots of young kids there get a chance to play on
the stage. Local musicians go there just for a beer and a chat, or a jam, or a
spontaneous gig. And one can smoke anything, anywhere!!! But the PA
and mic stands in our studio didn't work properly, so whilst everything else
about the set up was fabulous, that was just like all other rehearsal studios
I've ever been in!!!
We rehearsed six or seven songs. It was good to see Alban, Alf and
Tørbjorn again. I think they were playing together better than ever.
We broke the ice and had a laugh. Alf (keyboards) fussy, Tørbjorn (drums &
voice) in charge, Alban concentrating on guitar! The water front was feet away
from the front door and the calm atmosphere was perfect when we took a break
for beers and ham and cheese toasted Turkish bread thing. They explained how
the up-coming gig was a surprise at a wedding and the chap Tørbjorn was with that
morning at breakfast was the bridegroom (name: Ingar). (They had been having his
stag night the night before) So they didn't want the Ingar to know who I was,
hence the abruptness at breakfast!! Tørbjorn was the Best Man you see. More of this relevance later!
Alban also explained to me what a 'Only Fools And Horses' fan he was!
(Forsh 'n' hashish in Dutch I believe!). No wonder he could understand
South London talk!!!
Later, when we were done, I took a cab back to hotel and Mawendy was
back from her tour. Alban stayed at the studio, he was going to play with some local
people that evening, Tørbjorn and Alf had business to do.
Mawendy and I went into town, we ate (expensive we thought) kebab and lasagne
in a café. But we did discover the Front Page Coffeeshop and Bar. It was in two
sections either side of an alleyway. One half was a traditional Amsterdam bar,
the other was a traditional Amsterdam coffeeshop. So one could purchase
whatever in the coffeeshop and use it with a beer in the bar. It was very
cosy!! We had an early night.

Mon 17 June 02
We had a sandwich lunch al fresco by a canal. It was a bit touristy, although not expensive but the service was bad. I ate 'kipkerrie' sandwich, 'kipkerrie' is chicken curry. It was rather like a Coronation Chicken Sandwich! but they do like mayonnaise, the Dutch!! We visited the Bluebird coffeeshop and the Front Page. We spent sometime searching for a particular other one but could never find it. The map had all the streets on but not all the names of the streets.
This day we rehearsed from 6 pm until midnight in the same place as the
day before. That day we polished up the tunes we had remembered/ learnt the day
before. It was good intense work and very productive. These guys know how to
slog!!
Mawendy spent the evening chilling out and watching TV in the hotel room. She
said she popped out for a drink and a breath of fresh air but was back when I
returned. I went on my own down to the hotel bar and had a couple of
beers.

Tues. 18 June 02
This was the day we returned to London. We got a taxi to the station, a train to the airport and a Boeing 737 (as famously used on 11 September 2001) to Gatwick.
We arrived in sunny weather though not as warm as the Nederlands had been. Once
back, the first thing on the agenda was a trip to Peckham. We got the train via
Haydons Road and Tulse Hill. We met up with James and T in the Heaton Arms. It
was strange being there with Wendy especially as only a few hours earlier we
were having breakfast in Amsterdam.
Once back to Wimbledon we went to Cannizarro Park. This is a beautiful
large garden adjacent to Wimbledon Common. We lingered and took in
the fresh air. We had a beer in the Fox and Grapes. We walked through the pre-
tennis Wimbledon Village back to my house. Later on Rick Bell turned up and chatted. We had an early night.

Wed 19 June 02
This day we had lunch with my mother (beans on toast, thousands on a
raft as Pete Brown who wrote the word to White Room by Cream would've
said!).
Mawendy got packed and we headed off to Victoria coach station. Before
long she was on the coach and gone!! I got the train home but lingered at Clapham Junction in a pub in Falcon Road. I sat and contemplated the last few days, quietly and on my own.

Thurs 20 June 02
That evening I went round, for what was to be last time ever to Martin
and Bing's old house. They were moving that Sat/ Sun. We had some
fresh air and met John West in the Leather Bottle. We then went to the Railway Bell
and then back to Quintin Avenue (Martin's house). John went about midnight,
Martin and I sat up half the night. I walked the two or so miles home in the mild
night air.

Fri 21 June 02 (Summer Solstice)
During the day I saw my old acquaintance Joan Bicknell and her girls.
At about four I got the train back to Gatwick Airport. I checked in at
Braathens Airline and they let me carry my bass as hand luggage.
I was served a pleasant meal of salad and meats with a nice half bottle of red
wine.
The flight to Bergen took two hours. The coastline was a mess of islands and inlets. I saw traffic travelling along the right side of the road, I could see lots of fir trees and moor-like vegetation. This must be Norway!
There was only a short wait until the next plane. Not even long enough to get a beer! My ears were hurting from the pressure of landing. This doesn't always happen but when it does, it is not only painful but debilitating as one goes quite deaf. And I was very surprised to see the Norwegian man checking the passports was Asian
(Asian in the UK sense i.e. Indian/ Pakistani/ Middle Eastern, not Asian in the USA sense i.e. Oriental). He was only one of the two non-white people I saw during my 48 hour visit. Soon we were on the next plane. It had the atmosphere of a local bus in England.
People were running into colleagues, neighbours and chatting. All the
announcements were in Norge only. An attractive blond thirty-
something sat next to me (the plane was only half full) and engaged
me in conversation. She was called Olga and taught me Norwegian
for Thank you which in English sounded like Tahk, beer which
was beer, or øl pronounced earl and the same as the English word ale of course!!
We flew across the snow covered mountains, clearly visible from the
aeroplane on this mid-summers day! The sky had not darkened although
it was about eleven PM.
Trondheim airport is 30 kilometres from the town. It nestles between
the tree-covered hills and fjord edge. There is a lot of space. I
left the plane and we all entered the terminal building. I followed
my native guide, Olga onto the bus. There I met Alban who coincidentally arrived on the Amsterdam-Oslo-Tronheim plane. The ride was very interesting. The modest four and sometimes two-lane freeway went through no small villages, just lots of tunnels through mountains and past fabulous fjord views.
We arrived at the town almost on the dot of midnight. It was still
light, slightly twilighty. I said good-bye to Olga (whose husband was
a pilot with the airline we were on and was travelling back after a visit to a sister and her family who lived in Brockley, South London). Alban, myself and a Norwegian called Martin, who Alban had met on the flight, did the only obvious option: go and have a beer!!
Martin explained that in Norway one goes to the bar in bars (or pubs)
and pays at the bar- no table service- they also buy rounds. Now for
a big surprise! Martin ordered three øl and the price was about
NOK154. There are twelve NOK (Norwegian Krone) to the pound. And the
beers were small, about three-quarters of a pint or less and only 4.1% alcohol! That's about £5 a pint! Everything was the same; very expensive!!!
At about two (bright daylight!) we went off and found the hotel.
The name of the hotel was very English, The Chesterfield. I thought
if I get lost, It will be easy to pronounce where I want to go!! But
then thought, blimey! How much would a five-minute cab ride in this
country cost?!? The hotel room was quite large and looked like hotel
rooms around the world except for the very substantial curtains!!!

Sat 22nd June 02
It's funny. I may be staying in a well appointed hotel room complete with en suite, mini-bar, double bed, armchair, TV, table, wardrobe et cetera but I live right out of my small overnight bag. I keep all my stuff in the bag and take it all out with me if I leave the room. Its the same if I'm sleeping in Robin & Sarah's conservatory, a four
star hotel or any number of friends' beds. Be that as it may, I went down for breakfast at about ten am (very bright sunshine!). There was the usual buffet style offering. Breads, meats, jelly/ jam, cereal, fruit and so forth but also pickled herrings (rollmop- a real favourite of mine!) and fish paste. I confused the mackerel paste for some sort of jam; it was in a similar pot. The taste came as a surprise on my croissant though!
Soundcheck was somewhere in town at noon. I called Alban's room and
he met me in the reception. We met up with Tørbjorn outside and we
went with him to the wedding venue. Trondheim is a charming little town; cobbled streets, wood fronted houses with pointy roofs, quaint stone built cathedral. It lies in
the late meander of the river just as it reaches the sea. The sea is
an inlet about twenty miles long leading out to the North Sea. These
inlets are famously known as fjords. Where the river empties into the
fjord is where the harbour is. The town is built on its sea trade and
I suppose the sea trade here goes back to the Viking period at least.
Anyway the wedding venue was in an old large house. It has recently
be converted from a dwelling into a Gentleman's Club, complete
with, bar, chef, uniformed waiting staff, library, smoking room,
leather chesterfields, the lot! Now, this Gentleman's Club is on
the escarpment that naturally occurs when a medium size river erodes
this glaciated landscape with such verve. The house faces away from
the fluvial member and so the back garden goes all the way down
terraces to the aquatic fluidness. The view from the ample terrace is
fantastic. You know we've all seen postcards of Scandinavia with
those churches that have more roof than steeple to their steeples and
fir trees and crystal dark blue, almost purple cold fjord water? Well
that was the view: post card like indeed!
We set up the rented gear in the marquee on the lawn. The hired
equipment was very good quality. Alban's guitar (Strat) packed up and
the rental company lent him a brand new 'pre-distressed' Telecaster.
This is a brand new guitar but made to look old, used and knackered
in the factory. Old Fenders are very collectable and desired and
this is a way of getting a guitar that looks like all those things.
I've seen them in shops and in magazines before but this was the
first time I have been able to inspect one. And it played really
well. I'd sooner get a proper new one, though, and distress it
myself!!
We did a sound rehearsal and it proved to be a sound rehearsal. Our
hard work in Nederlands paid off. We dropped 'Do You Wanna Be A Star'?
at the last moment. But all the others; 'Replang', 'Soul'd Out', 'Too
Much Too Late', 'Love In The Shadows' AKA 'Shadow of Love' AKA 'In
Love There Are Shadows' AKA 'Hank Marvin Was In The Shadows But
Albert Lee Was In Love, In Love With Who We Don't know' and the
amazing 'Five', we ran through successfully. The song called 'Five' (en Anglais) was Tørbjorn's best Man's speech to Ingar. This was the whole reason for the whole long weekend in Amsterdam with my mate Mawendy, flying to an obscure part of Europe and the rest. It was simply one bloke doing a big surprise for his mate. During the afternoon, Alban and I visited a Trondheim Music Shop which was very well stocked to say the least (expensive though!). We also bought a six inch baguette filled with tuna mayonnaise complete with a 'regular' Coca Cola; £8!!!!!!!!!!!! A sixty piece marching band played through the town, we spoke to a woman in the street
market about the turnips she was selling, I had a beer in a bar (quite an extravagance!). At six PM we sneaked in the back entrance of the marquee and waited
with a bottle of beer in hand. We convened behind the curtain. All the guests were sat in the marquee eating fab barBQ food. Suddenly someone pulled a switch and, unexpectedly the best man and some of the bridegroom's friends were playing 'rock' music. Tørbjorn did the tune; everyone was laughing and just very chuffed!
Technically and musically it went very well. We performed our other
tunes. All was well. Although what Tørbjorn sang and said? I have no
idea it was all in Norwegian!
After wards I packed my Fender away and my bag and joined the party.
During a strange episode when the chief bridesmaid was relating a
play in Norwegian, acted out by loads of the guests by falling on the
floor and climbing on each other, the three non-Norwegian speaking
guests gathered at the back, They were me, Alban and an American
bloke, whose name fails me I'm afraid. But we did feel a common link
through our lack of Norwegian! I had a good time that night!
Liquor is illegal out side in Norway (as opposed to beer & wine) and
so everyone goes inside to toast the happy, lucky couple with cognac.
Then it is a free for all piss up. This isn't just posh weddings; this is the whole country, it seemed to be a very booze oriented culture. I did get a breath of fresh air though, I met a journalist/broadcaster called Rune and we had a good chat.
There is a preponderance of blondes in Norway. The native rootstock
(female) is mainly blond. This is a pleasant cultural effect, not that they are blond, but just so many! And very friendly. At the end of the 'evening', about two thirty, I went in the marquee and picked up my bag and bass. I was amazed the rental company was
prepared to leave their gear in tent in someone's garden all night, but there you are, this is not LA or South London or even Amsterdam?
At this point I realised my dark glasses were in the house but it was locked and too late to get back in so I abandoned them!
I walked back to the hotel through Trondheim. It was very light and could have been three in the afternoon. Obviously the shops and bars were closed (all bars close at two AM with no warning or fuss) but there were loads of people still about reluctant to retire in a world were darkness never comes?
I drew the thick curtains in the hotel room and slumbered.

Sun 23 June 02
This day was a travelling day. In the morning I had breakfast and took a walk down to the docks and fjord side. The water of the fjord was such a beautiful dark blue, almost preternatural. Alban & I caught the bus to the airport. We said our farewells. I got
the plane to Bergen. At Bergen waiting room I boldly went to the bar with my last NOK?s. 'A large beer, Please', I said. The barkeep went out to the backroom and came back with glass that looked it could have held two pints! My heart paused. At Norwegian prices, oh! And shit! Airport prices!. I looked at my NOK100 and hoped! It cost something like NOK80 but it was nice drinking a beer you could gulp
at and it was a fond farewell to this place I so briefly visited but met so comprehensively.
During the flight back, I saw the coast of Essex and lots of cloud. I went Gatwick, Croydon, and Tram, Home. I celebrated my homecoming with two pints of Stella in the Kilkenny Tavern (£2-30 pint-1, cheap!) and a Chinese 'Meal for One' from 'Yip
Nong Hai' in Merton Road (£4-59, pork ball with sweet & sour sauce, chicken chop suey, and egg fried rice- cheap!).


I have more stuff to tell you but this is all for now from my 'European Summer'.

29 October 2002
Well I expect all of our message board posters and readers are wondering what the band is up to. I expect you have gathered that we are in the midst of recording the new album. Earlier this month the band members gathered at "Chez Weller" a.k.a "Two Farthings" often shortened to "Two Farts", always known as the "Ponderosa". This is his rural homestead on top of a hill in the pretty Devon countryside. The view from the place looks in a generally eastern direction, so great sunrises over the English Channel (Lyme Bay to be precise) but no sunsets. On a clear day, which indeed this first day was, one can see the shining sea, some five miles distant, with bright white dots of sailing ships rigging plainly visible. One can see the remains of crop circles in adjacent wheat fields, one can see the River Exe estuary (with it multitude of ornithology) and buzzards climbing high in the softly spiralling Indian Summer thermals. At night, especially if one goes to the paddock, the night sky is magnificent, light pollution down to a merest orange glow at the horizon. I observed the square of Pegasus, M31 (the Andromeda Galaxy), the Pleiades, the glinting band of innumerable stars of our own galaxy (the Milky Way). I've sat there with bats gently whooshing past, two feet from my head, the crickets chirping. (Look, I know the scene described in the paragraph above sounds attractive and perhaps ideal but remember, you can't get a hallal meal or a tube train anywhere or a bunch of African groceries late at night, a bus, bottles of Carib beer, a Chinese library book, a portion of curry goat or anything considered convenient and normal in South London!)
We set up his studio as the "live" room and another outbuilding, just across the patio, was set up as the "control room". The "live room" is where the loud things like drums and electric guitars are played, the "control room" is where the recording equipment, monitor speakers and mixing board go. This equipment was supplied by the visiting mobile facilities of Deep Studios run by Ivor Abiks. He also was the engineer (the knob twiddler).
We spent two days recording the "basic" tracks with the Blue Tits chattering around us. By "basic tracks" we mean the drums and "guide" guitars and vocals. The drum parts are always done first as they provide a framework on which the guitars and vocals are placed later. The "guide" vocals and guitars are recorded at the same time as the drums and facilitate everyone knowing where one is in the arrangements of the songs. These guide tracks are usually replaced with a more accurate version some time later (by means of dubbing). We spent about twenty odd hours over two days getting it done. We spent sometime in the pub playing pool and drinking beer. We discussed the finer points of our own and each other's performance. We found new ways to do old things and compromised over stumbling blocks and pitfalls. All the material is stripped right down to the elements, so as to be built up again.Mostly we did new tunes but we did do acouple of old favourites again and did a handful of "covers". When one has just finished recording anything it always sounds dreadful. The ~0.5% of the captured sound that is not perfect stands out head and shoulders from the rest. To everyone else it sounds fine but you always have your reservations because you know you could get it just that tiny bit better! All the most bijou of fluffs stand out like an Eifel Tower in Peckham.It is best to leave it and come back to it somedays later. This seems to make errors evaporate. This is precisely what we did. During the following week Martin re-did some of the guitars. For this he went to Ivor's studio proper in the Devon town of Dawlish. The studio is in the basement of his Edwardian town house, so no view at all!! This is only four or five miles from the Weller pad. Meanwhile, back in London, I had received a CD of the tracks as recorded so far. This gave me time to consider the overdubs I will do. Now on stage I am the bass player. In the studio I can be the lead guitarist, piano player, synth/ keyboardist, lap steel scraper, harmonica sucker, ukulele strummer, glockenspiel plinger, squeeze box,er, squeezer, slide guitar Ry Cooderist, 12 string guitar manipulator, percussionist et cetera. I have to size up what will enhance a tune and work out my parts. Hence the rough mix CD. A lot of bands and performers, overdubs are done in studios following an awful lot of "noodling" to see what fits and sounds good. This method is fine but takes a lot of time and is often a rather committee based process. The alternative is to simply "orchestrate". This is what I have done this time. I wrote all the tunes out and wrote down the "dots" for any additional instruments. When dreaming up keyboard parts, it is easy to imagine cor anglais, trumpets with Harmon mutes, violas, woodwind quartets, French horns. And with modern sythesizers one can give a fair impression of the real instruments. But despite what anyone ever, ever says, it is never, never, never as good as having real players with music stands playing, breathing and realising your dots and inventions.It's also easy to orchestrate, or more properly "arrange" slide guitar parts, Hammond Organ parts and so forth. And arrange them quite meticulously so every note is correct! The funny thing is that although all this work goes on under the main band song, what you mainly hear is the drums, bass, guitar and singing! The extras just give a depth and class to the finished article. This weekend we are back in the studio to finish off. Das Kapitano, will do all his vocals, as will Rick; I will do my parts. I will variously apply synthetic trumpets, bassoons, strings or whatever. I will also add real 12-string acoustic and slide guitar and stuff. There may be one or two other guests performing. Who knows? This is what happens in studios. When you hear the final product you will not be disappointed. A lot of love and care ends up on that silver coaster thing with the hole in it!! Meanwhile I will spend a couple of days gazing at the South London skyline with all the cosmopolitan bustle that that includes. I will take that with me and superimpose it on the rural view I described above. That in essence is what compiling this studio album is about.
So that is the story so far. The next stage of course is "mix down" but more of that when we get there.
The classic Crush song "Blond Girl in the Bath" may or may not have been put down (not in the vet sense!) this last session...Tomorrow or actually Friday Rick the Stick has a gig outside the usual Krusch set up. He is playing with the ledgendary "A38's" at the Redwing in Lympstone Devon.As they say " be there or be someone else". I will be there myself so if anyone wants to meet me in real be there. You still have time to get on a 'plane. I'll sort out somewhere for you to crash if you like...I mean it. Be ready, though for a serious after-show party. I don't mean just the hedonistic stuff (of which there will be copious amounts!), I mean a night's worth of fierce conversation ( please be aware of irony and rest of it. Oooh Er! Matron et cetera!)Das Kapitano (aka Der Furher) will there and Bing, I shouldn't wonder. The next day of course we're getting on with the new album.Later this month I am doing an exra-Crush gig myself. This'll be in Kitbuhel in the Austrian Alps (Europe) with the Advent Warriors with two days rehearsal in a couple of weeks time in Amsterdam. Wot a drag!!!!Meanwhile stayed tuned and ready to be thrilled by the exploits of the Crush musos!They are nearer to you than you think!
Be that as it may, I luv you all
The bass (big bit of Fender wood) holder.....

9 November 2002
Drive through the counties A gastronomic disappointment, liver & bacon not chosen this time. See how the low cloud, its precipitation, cold and refreshing like Sauvignon fine. Follow the lanes as the light it is darkening Visit the women they’re preoccupied. They shuffle the cards the sleeves insufficient His timing is dreadful, his sensitivity nil. Drummer, in vain, tries to explain His family artform. His laptop is booted the files seem useless I try to reveal it More wasted time. Off to the homestead, more in car waiting What does it mean all his hanging around? Now on the other side of the estuary, greeting my friends, drinking their wine. Walk through the village, the rain and the weather makes a fine air for me to breathe. Shoulder to shoulder, try to get noticed Two pints of lagers and a packet of crisps. There he is drumming, Casey Jones’ helper At least that’s what he looks like to me. Hearing the tunes we learnt when we’re kids. Doing it with others must be a thrill. Rather like sleeping with somebody different Like waking at first light and slipping off home cold. Out in the car park I breathe in the fresh air Rather like times I‘m here myself. Back at the house the after show party His temporary colleagues navigate the thirty eight in the dark. Now is the next day over the water. Stuffed in a basement Singing our tunes. The guests they perform well singing and sucking. I sit in the pub Guardian time. I am the producer, I sit in the big chair, Tell if it is good or do it again. Now it is over off to a party Four miles as the crow flies over the mud and the water. A very long drive. Under the table I reel in the vision A vision of booze and breathing fresh air. There on the sofa they’re making a movie Sightless and addled the scene it unfolds. Suddenly it’s Sunday no time for your rituals except with the paper and one for the road. Dreaming of woodwind, their keys gently clacking Synthtetic symphony black and white keys There sits the producer with stripes of red and A bag of time on his hands. Still it is done the layers complete Go for the fungi and yeast in a row The barley grows ergot and trumpets get muted. Here pizzicato is beer on the run Sleep follows quickly, a new sun is waking Watch it arise from King Neptune’s cloak. Back in the basement we stay for a while Engineer woman and a tea in your hand. Red is the colour and so there are yellow The table is green and balls white and black. Go to the station remember my ticket Great western railway kingdom brunel And now I am back

13 November 2002
Help!asleep again!The bilko silhouetteAlf garnett is a semi-precious stoneTempus fugitIrreveresibleDyslexia numericaamerikahighway 61zimmermanjuden poet americanaabraham she's a friend of minediwali in novramadan it's now in the winter dawns and watery sunsetswe see a sunrise and winter's cloak dries the water on Wimbledon CommonMutton Khottu pronounced "cottoo"a beer and a game of poolthe jig and reels rockin' like bolliwoodMeanwhile Das Kapitan schlaffen!!Meanwhile back at the ranch of creativityDie Alpen flugen mit mir!Seatttle, Amsterdam, FromeMeanwhile Desolation Row looks real from where I'm standing in South West Nineteen South LondonThe nightingales and skylarks are on the accendencyThe foxes screaming at dawn their bodies locked in painful gratu..how do you spell gratuartious, grattyooattuss, gratouhyathess
And bugger he now snores again in my dining chairHelpIt's a exciting world!
END OF FAB ON LINE POEM (OR WHATEVER)
I'm glad we never or I never or "He" never said wot musicians always do....("He"say's, "scrukkle", he says, "snquerrnch", he says, "Hrchchchchrrrrchchchrrchchchchr")
I LUV U ALL

Basking In The light At The End Of The Tunnel
Thurs 31 Jan 2002.
Robin had been in London working for a week. He called me up and suggested going for some food and a couple of pints. That week I was looking after an old friend's flat in Tooting. He came from Wimbledon Chase by train and met me at a rainy and wind-swept Tooting Junction station. We had a constitutional libation in the Railway Bell and popped in the flat to grab a breath of fresh air on the balcony. The view from that balcony is my most favourite of London, if not the whole Universe.
We walked up Tooting Broadway and went in Garum Masala. This is a Halal Lahore style Pakistani café. We had mutton in sauce and bhindi (okra, ladies' fingers, gumbo), mint dahi (yoghurt or raita), lime pickle and with piping hot, freshly made in the tandoori (clay oven) nan (flat) breads. The Urdu pop top twenty television program flickered on the TV and the jangly music mixed with the heady aromas of jeera (cumin) and garlic. We drank a pint each of very sweet, yellow mango lassi (freshly prepared fruit drinking yoghurt). Robin and I then jumped on a red double decker 'bus back to Tooting Junction and tried another couple of beers.
It was good trying to repay some of his generous hospitality that him and his wife Sara have showed the band and me over the last couple of years or so.
Friday 1 Feb 2002.
This was the day Robin was returning to east Devon and also the band were due there to play some gigs. So he (Robin) gave me a lift. We drove straight to Lympstone, leaving at three thirty pm. We arrived at seven. On the way down the wind had been very stormy indeed but evidently had the effect of keeping the casual road users away rendering the road emptier than usual. Stonehenge looked grey and bleak.
When we arrived, Martin and Bing were already there. We ate the delicious pasta that Sara had prepared; it was very welcome. The drummer was on his way! Martin & I went to the Red Wing in Lympstone and set up the gear. The Red Wing has always been a good gig for Martin's various combo's: Martin & Clive, Martin, Clive, Pete & Rick, Martin, Pete & Rick and now, Martin, Rick & Yours Truly. Rick showed up and set up his musical trappings.
The first set was a nightmare for the Capt. He broke a string on his Telecaster. Normally this is not a problem but the ferule that retains the string fell off and rendered a quick change impossible. This is typical of Fender Telecasters by the way; they are fab guitars to play and sound great but tend to rattle to pieces. So Martin had to finish the set with his acoustic. (This is reminiscent of the previous Red Wing gig when Martin had a duff lead cause a mic to go live thus somewhat putting him off his stroke!)
As the wind blew a force seven, the second show got under way and the Redwing gremlins evaporated. It was a rockin' set.
At the end Dave (the Redwing's landlord) got up with us and sang Born To Be Mild, the tune from Easy Rider by Steppenwolf. This made a change from the tradition of Cochran's Summertime Blues, which has been his number to sing before.
After the show and the gear was packed up, we eventually went back to Robin & Sara's for a soirée. But firstly, the drummer, Mr.Bell and I went down to Lympstone harbour and along the dock so as to see the surf and waves blowing up the estuary. We went about two thirds of the way along. That was far enough! The wind and spray in the dark were amazing, and this is quite a sheltered spot. Heaven knows what conditions out at sea were like. Back at the house we had a few drinks but everyone was tired and we crashed out quite early- for us! (About 4 am).
Saturday 2 Feb 2002.
A day to myself! On this day I had to buy a paper, read it, go and do a gig. That's all I've got to do all day. Bloody brilliant!
I strolled round the garden in the blustery but sunny weather and had a spot of fresh air. Walked the country mile to Lympstone "town centre", bought a Guardian in the Post office, queued up for five minutes to pay (Most un-London-like), walked to, went in and bought a pint in the Redwing. I quietly sat reading. Dave tried regaling me with his musician stories. (You have to imagine his guttural south London), "and then Jeff Beck 'phoned me up and offered me £30 for the Gibson", "I told Plonk Lane that he was crap" et cetera.
I went back to the house and sweetly slumbered on the sofa as Sara and Robin watched the rugby. Soon, it was early evening and we were preparing for that night's gig. I washed my hair and found the cleanest T-shirt.
The gig was at Exmouth's answer to the Irish theme pub. It's called O'Mally's. It's a great local pub gig but the tiled floor is hard on the feet when one is standing playing for a number of hours. The band sounded phat. There were a lot of people in. It was another good gig. Afterwards, when we were packing up, I went to the Indian Ocean "Indian" take away and ordered lamb korai and fried rice as did Mr.Bell.
We all returned to the house in Lympstone to eat our tea and party and did with Briony, Pauline and the others. (I'm sorry but I'm crap at names and remembering people. I have to meet persons on more than occasion before they will register. Luckily the drummer remembers everyone and everything!!)
At about 2 am Martin, Briony and I went on to another party. This was at Blind Dog Walker's brother and his partner's house. You see I know these people and talk to them and like them but can't remember their names. I can see their faces though. I was wearing my dark glasses and batik print cotton scarf round my neck and over my head. I thought I looked like a member of the Mujahaddin, others thought I looked like Marilyn Monroe. Queerly, I quite like either image for myself. The room was full of people sitting on the chairs and floor. Blind Dog, Rachel, Lady Di were all there. Sat in the corner of the room on a sofa was a fabulous looking woman, blond, piercing grey-green eyes, high cheekbones, lithe in a tight white t-shirt. She invited me to sit next to her and made space for me. We sat and chatted. When the time came for Martin & Briony to return to the digs in Lympstone, the mysterious beautiful women said she would drive me "home".
The mane of this new friend is Wendy. We spent all night talking and I learnt her mother was in Hospital in Exeter. I knew the mother was quite ill, what with Wendy mentioning the words "cancer", "pneumonia" and "morphine". Even if she knew how critical she was, Wendy was still thinking optimistically.
Sunday 3 Feb 2002.
At about one PM I returned to the house in Lympstone. No one was there. The neighbour said they had all gone for "breakfast". I had a beer in the Saddlers and pondered life without a Sunday Times. I then got a cab to the gig venue. This was the Famous Old Barrel. None of the band or friends were there, so I got another cab to the Beach (Pub), no one there or in the Harbour Café. I caught yet another cab to the Strand (Town Centre). I walked round the covered market and had a lunch of cheeseburger and chips from Mr.Munchies. Back to The Famous Old Barrel and still no sign of anyone. I started thinking I had got it all wrong! I went outside and saw Ivor Abiks sitting in his car. He had come to record the gig for a possible live album. I've known Ivor on and off since the late sixties. He gave me the third CD in his series of stuff we recorded some thirty years ago. The sleeve design was strident to say the least!!
Soon, of course, the others turned up. We set up. This was more complex than usual because of Ivor's recording gubbins. Anyway we got it sorted and played to full, enthusiastic audience. After the gig Mr.Bell went home to London, Mr.Abiks went back to Dawlish, The Capt. and Bing went..er? somewhere. As Rick was leaving straight away, I was due in work at eight the next morning and Wendy and I were in an emotional whirlpool, I had to decide what to do. We wanted to spend just a little bit longer together. I said I'd stay over on the Sunday night and then get the first train out of XMF in the morning and get to work.
I had decided to stay over and go back on the train the next day.
Monday 4 Feb 2002.
We went and ate (well toyed with) food at a Chinese restaurant and went to Wendy's. She was very concerned, I decided to stay and support her. I called work at eight fifty am and said, "I won't be in today. Something unexpected and personal has turned up". That morning we went down to a café on the prom. The sea and weather were wild. The surf was breaking on the sea wall and the wind was blowing the spume right up to the windows next to us. The white horses bubbled and fizzed. I looked across the Formica topped table at her beautiful sad face. The scene outside mirrored our own paradoxical emotional maelstrom(s). I said it was like a scene from a film.
Wendy drove to Exeter to the hospital, I went to the local pub with the Guardian. I tried to read it normally. I went back to Wendy's house and let myself in with the key she gave me. She returned from the hospital visit. She looked grave. He mother was not to return home as expected. Next the situation got worse. The call came from the doctor. He said to round up the family and get back down there. She picked up her auntie and dropped me at St.David's Station. She was with the people she should be with. It was time for me go.
In a couple of weeks, when this business is over, she intends to come and stay in London with m. I can hardly wait. I can hardly eat, I feel like a love sick seventeen-year-old.
The intensity of my personal situation was pleasingly overwhelming felt happy, reinvented, chuffed (an unfortunate choice of word perhaps!) but sad for her and her mother, her grief, sad about leaving her behind and the uncertainty of what may or may not ever become of us.
Finally got the train to Paddington, got home at nine pm. I went and had a pint at the "Who-Killed-Kenny Tavern", went home, went to bed and dreamt.
Tuesday 5 Feb 2002.
Rehearsal at my house for band. We had a gig coming up next weekend that was going to be a bit different for various reasons.
Rick managed all the business (not Martin as usual).
The people who had booked us wanted to play some of their own tunes with us and this meant learning and rehearsing with them.
They seemed to be very rich!
We had, the previous week, met and played with Alban, Al and Torbjorn. It had been a loud chaotic event. They had subsequently supplied us with tapes and chord charts and I had done a bit of homework. On this evening we (Martin, Rick and me) half-heartedly reviewed and ran through their material. We also played some of our newer ones. We then retired to the Marquis of Lorne for a diary session, a beer or two and a game of pool.
Wednesday 5 Feb 2002.
On this evening I went to the Grey Horse in Kingston to give the guv'nor my fliers and posters for my SOLO GIG. GREY HORSE, KINGSTON, 8 PM, SUNDAY, 3RD MARCH 2002. The Band that night was my old friends Whitemen In The Jungle. During the second set I sat in the bar and talked at length to Ralph (token famous person).
Thursday 6 Feb 2002.
I went on the 14 'bus to Fulham Broadway, duly found the studio in North End Road and there were the Advent Warriors (Alban, Al and Torbjorn). We rehearsed all evening and sorted out their truly European sounding anthems. The gig was the next Saturday. Mssrs. Weller and Bell (in a tie!!!) attended briefly. At ten thirty three very much happier than the previous time Europeans and I had pints in the pub. It assured them it would all go well.
Friday 7 Feb 2002.
Stayed in and watched tele on my own. Luxury!!
Saturday 8 Feb 2002.
I rushed out to that dreadful guitar shop in Wimbledon to buy a couple of jack leads. They were short, cheap looking and expensive (and didn't work in the end!!). Later I met my friend Wendy at Waterloo Station and we got tickets for Chichester. We arrived there at about five pm in pleasant mild sunshine. We got a taxi to Goodwood House. This place is a large pile. They started building it in the eighteenth century and it belongs to the Duke of Richmond's family. It's on the roster of "stately homes" to visit. It is famous for its art collection and general grandness. It holds charity events and conferences as part of its commercial operations.
The band was set up already and sound checking with the Europeans. They said they would do their tunes early on (estimated to be 9.30pm) and we would go on and do our set a bit later. Well, as with all corporate award/ dinners/ speeches things it really overran. We did their tunes with them. I was very good, both technically and artistically. We played to a stuffed room of people. By the time Crush UK got to play though, it was very much later, the audience was very much more pissed and we were tired of waiting. We played to a small but enthusiastic crowd. Beer was free and a waitress in black and white served coffee up back stage from a solid silver coffee-pot. You don't get that at the Redwing.
After the gig we retired to the Hotel which was on site. We went to the bar and had a drink with the delighted Advent Warriors.
It was nice to have a room, mini-bar and Sunday Times on expenses, especially as the hotel carries four stars! We got a taxi to the station, a train to Reading. We met up with Sarah and Fish. They all drove back to Exmouth. I got a train to Waterloo and had dinner in Garam Masala (lamb biryani) in Tooting.
It's been a busy and totally wonderful fortnight!!!!

Well it was off to the West Country again!!!
On Thursday I had arranged with the drummer to meet him at his house and thence travel with him to Exeter. I took a Pakistani Halal lunch in Tooting at the Garum Masala café. It was saag gosht and two freshly cooked nan breads. I washed it down with a mango lassie. I nipped in the Railway Bell and perused the Guardian, checked my e-mail on the Internet fruit machine and quaffed a pint of Carlin Black Label lager. I then waited for a 44 or 280 'bus to Mitcham. At Mitcham I caught the 127 to the Goat. By now it was showering heavily so I went in the Goat with view to 'phoning Rick to say I was on my way and nearly there. But the 'phone was kaput, so I legged it the half mile or so uphill to Rick's house. Mr.Bell was packed and waiting for me. This is a first, because normally he comes and picks me up and I have the thrill of waiting for him to arrive. There are few things I dislike more than sitting at home all washed and dried with everything ready to go and then watching every car drive past the house after the time your lift is expected.
We had an uneventful trip down, barely stopping in any traffic at all. We arrived at Exeter at about seven thirty. We then spent the next three quarters of an hour finding the venue!! We came across Capt. & Mrs.Black in town and between us (mainly them!) we tracked Bowling Green down. When we had, we unloaded the equipment, unpacked it, patched up the cabling, tuned up and did a sound check. A few people made the journey to Exeter- Lady Di, Blind Dog, Magoo, Debs, Robin, Sara et al.
The Bowling Green has a good fat sound like you get in pubs that are all carpet. (As opposed to the edgy, echo-ey sound you get in the more trendy floorboards and tiles places.) We thought we played well. I wore a horrible light blue double-breasted suit. It cost £4-99 in Oxfam in Tooting. I wanted to look like an office worker. It was very uncomfortable. If I'm going to wear one again, I'm going to have to get something half-decent… We went back to Lympstone and slept.
The next morning Robin and Sara left for some ghastly sun and beach holiday, leaving their house generously for us to use!! I walked to the village post office and got the paper. The weather was good. Not too hot, a bit a rain, fluffy clouds and sunshine. I read my paper half in the Swan and half in the Redwing. I was surprised to find the Redwing still in business. Last time I was down there, there was talk of knocking it down and putting up a block of flats. Well it hasn't happened. It's still there and Dave is still behind the bar. We chatted about the band's fans and the chore of auditioning for new band members (and what a grin it always is). Rick the Rear Admiral turned up. "I thought I might find you here", he said. We all had a beer and a chat. We went back to Lympstone and slept.
That evening the gig was in Weston-Super-Duper-Mare. This is about an hour's drive from Exmouth/ Lympstone. The gig is in a large pub with a good stage complete with drum riser…BUT (!) the main entrance door is right by the stage and one is aware of absolutely every single person who comes in, or more importantly, leaves. It's most off putting! It is quite a busy town centre pub and it seems dozens of people are streaming out all the time. We played, we had a drink. We went back to Lympstone and slept.
On Saturday I was dropped off in Exmouth, "they" dined at the Beach (or is it Harbour?) Café, I read the Guardian in the Beach Pub. I started walking up the beach/ strand/ foreshore with "them" but lost interest after sixty seconds. I meandered into town and ended up having lunch in the Albion café. Luckily I stumbled into "them" in the town and got a lift. I went back to Lympstone and slept.
That evening (Saturday) the gig was in a pub on the outskirts of town for the purpose of a wedding reception. What peculiar things weddings are!!! We set up in this corner cubby-hole (great access from the alleyway outside though!!). The guests sat in the adjoining skittle alley and ate their squishy vol-au-vents and flobby pizza slices and drank their Frascati and brown ales. We were completely ignored during the first set (normal for a wedding). The second set started with a special request (Thankyou by Dead Zeppelin). When we were rehearsing it we discovered that it segues nicely into the coda of Hey Jude. Since this song had a certain significance for the "happy couple" it was decided (by the drummer) to do it straight, least it should upset anyone (per-lease!!). When it got to the pertinent moment it was he who led the singing into the a-feared Beatles bit!! They loved it anyway!! The rest of the set everyone just sat there. They were either bored to death with the wedding (possible), too pissed to stand up/ dance (very likely) or overawed by hearing something so good -us- that they were glued to their seats and expressions (very probable). At the end we loaded up the gear et cetera. We went back to Lympstone and slept.
Sunday arrived; we all went to Exmouth and met Blind Dog Walker and his deliciously sexy and intelligent bint. We had lunch in a dreadful down market canteen where the food was devoid of flavour, the atmosphere devoid of ambience and the service devoid of service. By the gods, eating out in Exmouth is below par!!! I've been to loads of places by now and they are all rubbish. Never open, expensive (for what you get), tasteless, flavourless, bad quality, boring, dreadful schoolgirl service, dreary. Be that as it may…. We went to the gig, the "Famous" Barrel. Presumably there is a (just) Barrel pub in town somewhere which evidently is not as famous…. They have installed a rather nice stage since the last gig some months ago. There was quite a good crowd, including Debs and Alan & Margo plus the usual suspects and we played rather well (we thought!). Ivor Abiks was there and we spoke about him recording the band live at some point, maybe next December. After the gig The Capt., Mrs.Black and the rest of them went off to party at the end. Rick and I went back to Lympstone picked up our stuff and headed for London. We stopped briefly at the Bell on the way back.
So…four good gigs (from a musical point of view) and not much partying (shame! I was right up for it on Sunday when we had to return).

It was about five PM yesterday. It was a mild showery autumnal evening. I bought an Evening Standard and read it in the company of a pint of Kronenbourg in the Eight Bells near Putney Bridge Tube station. The pub is small with a sprinkling of people mainly on their way home from work and sheltering from the back lit downpour. The music was a compilation of hits from 1970; Slade, Canned Heat, Credence Clearwater Revival. A shaven headed drunk was loudly and somewhat suddenly singing along with the occasional line. He startled but intimidated no one; no one really looked at him. I was reading about the jihad and Roy Wood was singing, "I'm a California Man".
Once the paper was perused and the pint drank, I walked the short distance round the corner and waited for a 93 'bus. One came within two minutes. It was a double decker and red. I sat upstairs at the front. As we drove over Putney Bridge itself, the pale sun made the water of the Thames look grey and serene.
I arrived home and had a nice pair of kippers for tea. My mother had purchased them from the man that comes up from Hastings. He parks his travelling shop type van near the library in Wimbledon every Wednesday and sells "fresh" fish direct from the coast. The smoked herring were simply poached in water with a knob of butter in a frying pan. I ate them simply with crusty white bread and butter. Elton John was on tele' performing "live" with what looked like his old band from years ago. I got washed and changed and left the house at about seven. I walked through the darkening Edwardian suburbs to Wimbledon Station taking in the fresh air as I went.
I purchased a ticket using one of the baffling new ticket machines. I hung around outside the main entrance watching car drivers anxiously waiting for the friends or charges to arrive. Soon Martin came running up through the light drizzle. We went to the right platform. There are "main line" trains, London "Underground" trains and trams at Wimbledon. Presently our "main line" train arrived. We got on board and sat down.
The line went through Haydon's Road, Tooting, Streatham, Tulse Hill, Herne Hill and then came to Loughborough Junction.(Hardly a "Main Line"!!) We alighted. We went down the hard stairs and along a short tunnel out of the station and onto the street. It was dark, the orange sodium streetlights reflected off the wet pavement. We crossed the road and went in the Green Man. A man standing in the entrance was quietly saying, "Skunk? Skunk?" Inside the herbal atmosphere we walked through to another bar and ordered two pints. We sat on stools at the counter. The sound system was loud. Mr.Weller put in his earplugs. This may protect his hearing but renders conversation with him similar to talking to a deaf old lady. He sort of cocks his head as if to listen and then smiles inanely as if he has understood. But you know he hasn't. There was a group of men at a table playing cards. It seemed to be a serious school, they weren't playing whist!! I could see through the counter area into another bar. There were young men playing pool. In the bar we were in were the women, children and mad people. The dancehall sounds emanated from a stack of speakers six or seven feet wide, six feet high and about four feet deep. They stood on the floor next to the street-facing windows. The MC was on a stage at the far end of the bar, mixing and chopping tunes every ten of fifteen seconds. He used a fire siren noise a lot. "Ring the alarm!" There was a gaggle of men in big hats smoking near the stage. Most of the pub gently nodded or swayed to the groove. As I said, what with one thing and another, conversation was difficult. Martin got out his notebook and made, well…er…notes in it, in the manner of a rookie constable. I borrowed Martin's mobile telephone, went out on to the pavement and called John West. He was due to meet up with us somewhere and at some time along the way and I made an arrangement to meet him later, somewhere else.
Martin and I left the Green Man and sauntered along Coldharbour Lane. We took a detour round the back of the railway arches in order to delay our arrival at the next place and give us time to take in some fresh air. The next venue from refreshment was the Angel in Coldharbour Lane. The ambience in there was mellower. Fewer young people. A busy pool table. Loud domino game. The jukebox was loud but very much less strident than the sound system in the other place. It had a warm fat (phat) sound. The music was rock steady. We sat at a table a chatted and Martin got out his notebook again! There was a man of about sixty with a wispy grey beard and pork pie hat dancing in a gliding sort of way to the Maytals. There were adjustable RSJ's holding up the Victorian ceiling. We wondered if the bass heavy music had caused accumulative structural damage!! The Victorians liked a good old knees up in their pubs, but they couldn't have envisaged the amount of bottom that King Tubby, I Roy and Lee "Scatch" Perry would produce!
We left the relaxed warmth of the Angel and walked down to Electric Avenue (well, Atlantic Road actually, but I would imagine Eddie Grant must have too!!). We went past the entrance of the closed Brixton Market and turned left into Railton Road. We took the opportunity to have some more fresh air. We were surprised to see a sprouting of new trendy restaurants; sushi, Lebanese, Italian bistro type of things. It's strange, one year you are having a-looting and a-rioting and then the same place gets invaded by the groovy middle class squash playing types!!!
After a ten-minute walk we had got to Herne Hill. This is just another crossroads with traffic lights and a pub, like most of the south London places. The pub is the Half Moon. This is where we arranged to see John. The Half Moon is a music venue, and quite well known to us, although there was no band on this night. I saw his car parked outside. It's quite distinctive; it's an old red Datsun 280ZX, which is one of those large sporty car type things. Inside he was stood at the bar nursing a half-pint. We had another round of drinks and headed for John's car. We climbed in and set off for SW17. We drove along side Brockwell Park, down to Tulse Hill, onto the South Circular Road, left down Cavendish Road and through Balham, coming out on Bedford Hill. (Bedford Hill used to be a flourishing red-light area. It is where Cynthia Payne had her establishment. In "the old days", twenty years ago or so, we used to make a detour on the way home from gigs uptown this way to look at the streetwalkers.) Bedford Hill leads to Tooting Bec Common and from there it is a stone's throw via Amen Corner to the Railway Bell.
I'm very, very at home in this pub!!! I ordered a pint of Extra Cold Guinness and a pint and a half of Stella Artois. We chatted about John's problems, we discussed Martin problems. I don't have any!!
I put a pound coin in the Internet 2Fruit Machine". We looked at the Crush UK site. I checked my e-mails. You get fifteen minutes of surfing for a quid. I think that's good value. You can't surf in an Internet café with a pint in your hand!! Closing time descended and we drank the last of our beer. We left at about eleven thirty.
We walked a short way down the main road to Karahi Korner. This is a halal fish'n'chip shop. A lot of moderately strict Moslems won't usually eat in fish'n'chips shops. This is not to do with the fish or chips (both are perfectly halal); it is the fact that everything is fried in one big deep fat frier. What this means is pig products such as battered sausages and saveloys contaminate the oil. Pig of course, is not halal ! In Karahi Korner they don't cook these items. But they do have chicken saveloys and sausages though!! They also do the usual Pakistani dishes. We were hungry. I ordered chana (chickpeas), dhall (lentils), pakora (like onion bhaji but all sorts of frittered vegetables), freshly cooked nan bread, a portion of freshly tandoor-ed chicken and Martin requested a portion of chutney (this is the red chilli sauce that is often added to doner kebab and other more Greek/ Turkish type food but in this case with a strong Pakistani bent). I paid and said,"Shook-ri-ah" to the man. That's Urdu for thankyou.
We went back to John's car and drove to Martin's house to consume the food. It was delicious. About half past midnight John and I left and John dropped me off at my house.
So that's what I did last night. A fairly typical slice of South London.

THE RHUBARB TARTS STORY
In 1984 three 16 year old school girls ran into Pete Davies in Thames Ditton, Surrey (don't ask how or why!). Pete had been the drummer in the UK Subs (English punk band) and at the time was working with Roddy Radiation (Ex Specials- Two Tone band) Pete hails from Coventry, hence the connection. The girls, Shelley, Rebecca and Melissa, could, "sing a bit". It turned out they could sing in very good harmony, quite naturally without too much "working out" (well two of them could!) I met up with them with view to making an act out of them (I'm not some sort of music biz Svengali, I just thought, having seen and heard them, that it could work).
We started rehearsing at my house in Wimbledon (South London) and sorted out an eclectic bunch of material, ranging from Zappa to the Carpenters via Marilyn Monroe. After a few rehearsals we needed a band. I played guitar, my old friend Pete Groves came out of (at the time) musical retirement to hold the bass and after much nagging, we persuaded Pete Davies to bash the skins.
We booked a couple of local gigs and did them. The band really rocked, the girls right on it with the sweet harmony, Rebecca country-ish, Melissa spunkier, Pete's drumming fat and right in the groove, Groves' lyrical bass playing. After the first flush of performances, Shelley left. The five of us continued gigging for some months. During this time Pete Grove adopted the "Brett Savage" stage name. We added another guitarist, Kenny Alton (ex-Fingerprintz), so that I could be freed up to play keys as well as guitar. When he left Tom Hickland (ex Five Hand Reel) joined on violin and keys. Shortly after Alun Davies joined on guitars. All these changes happened within about six months! Alun is no relation to Pete the drummer, but was Rebecca's father. Alun had a long pedigree having played with Cat Stevens all through the seventies (and Ronnie Lane, Ralph McTell, Albion Dance Band, Jeff Beck, Kate & Anna McGarrigle to namedrop but a few!) Alun and Tom then left!! Although he stayed involved (being related to the blond singer) and produced the one recording session that produced anything approaching releasable (see below).
After about a year I left and so did Pete "Brett Savage" Groves. We were replaced by Gerry O'Grady (gtr) and Malcolm Foster (bass). This is the band you would have seen at the Latchmere, although I played the Cricketers a few times. Malcolm was moonlighting from his "proper" gig with the Pretenders at the time. About that time Annie Black joined on vocals and keys.
There were never any commercial recordings made available. As I mentioned above we did record one session in earnest with view to release but it never came to anything. The song was our arrangement of a Charlie Harper song (UK Subs singer). But there were a few "demos" made and tapes to sell at gigs. I have some of these and you're welcome to a copy once I sort them out!!
The band continued until about 1986 but failed to realise its potential. It was beset by personnel changes (other guitar players were Graham Foster and Mike Boyd, other bass players were John Boyce and a woman whose name I can't recall- after I left I didn't pay much attention!)
Rebecca and Melissa got work as "girly" backing vocalist and did a lot of TV, working with all and sundry in the early days of Sky and the like. Melissa joined a band called The Trudi who enjoyed a small cult status for a smaller time. Last thing I heard about Melissa was she was teaching posh Americans to play piano in America.
Rebecca still does occasional local gigs with her father in a band called "Good Men In The Jungle". Of the musicians mentioned above the only ones still doing anything (as far as I know!) is me (Crush UK), Malcolm Foster (last seen holding the bass in Simple Minds) and Graham Foster (now living in Spain and acting out the part of a blues guitar hero-at which he is the best).
Pete Davies is retired from music and now is a hygiene company's travelling salesman (very '77 punk!!), Tom Hickland's a headmaster in Mitcham, Pete Groves was playing bass in Crush UK until I replaced him in 1999, but he's now retired to Lincolnshire. The others have disappeared.
It seems, as I write, that I've described what didn't happen more than what did. But looking back that's probably because that's how it was. The band never got the business side properly sorted and no one ever had any money to buy beer with, let alone money to spend on admin, promotion, recording et cetera. And there was never any proper management, except for the usual talentless chancers that proliferated the business then (and now).But it was fun whilst it lasted. Even then I was into my thirties (as all the original male members were) and the girls teenage company was always interesting (and decorative!).
I hope this missive has filled in the holes. Alas, I haven't even seen Rebecca for about three years now (we always kept in touch) and have no idea where any of the old members could be contacted. In these days of e-mail it would be easy to stay in touch, but it don't happen!