Now then Debs, it's still silly season for me:
After Monday last year at Notting Hill Carnival, I swore Never again. Then, at Cellofest, Rhiannon said she always wanted to play London. So, why not? Looks good on the old cv [how cynical!], and if it 's only Sunday . . . And I can collect Sophie's 21st present.
[Here's Grafton saying goodbye to Sophie's pan.]
Exhausted, a comfy bed, a clean and tidy room in Rosebery Hall, a recipe for a good night's sleep. Not! Not until I remember the World Service podcasts on the iPod do I manage even half of that! On Saturday I discover the tele room and the kitchen that I missed the night before in the accommodation. Breakfast is ace, and then the 38 takes me all the way to Clapton.
Go to Maxella's. Another gang of old friends. Here' s Emina, Raul, Adrianna, Christine, the Dutch and more. Later on , Lionel. Too poorly to play. Just listen. Over to Portobello Road to buy a couple of bum bags, identify an Kenyan flag for the shopkeeper, by phoning up Amy to see what flag represented Henry at the Albert Hall.
Watch Panorama [again in the rain! What did they do to deserve that two years running?], Saw the bands in practice on the street, Kensall Road, then perform on the big screen. Bumped into Freddy and into Ann Nimrod [old pal from City of Leeds], who both appeared and evaporated back into the night.
OMG! Ebony was good.
Spent more time looking for Charlotte, Sky, Grafton and Gary than standing with them!
Engage trolley and Sophie's pan, about to get christened at Notting Hill. Rhiannon meets me at Tooting Broadway, drink wine and try to find the bar lines to our three tunes, while her house mates watch tv. Get up early ish and do more of the same.