Blayd's - Lower Briggate; Wonderland middle of Briggate; pans stored top of club; have to carry them down, then stagger up Briggate with them. We pile all the big ones onto Bart in his wheelchair. This made an alarming sight for passers-by, as Bart couldn't see over the top of the basses. Worth it for the comedy moment.
Parking on last but one Sunday before Christmas?
I put my bike into the van before bringing down the rest of the pans; nearest parking space is opposite the University Parkinson steps; cycle down to Briggate [and in reverse later].
Ed, the organiser, asked me how many people were playing. "Well," I said, "I'm not sure." Amy passed, carrying a guitar pan; Varshika passed us holding a small piece of drum-kit in her one good hand; Bart rolled past. "Er, that makes twelve, I think".
In the end we were me, Bex, Natalie, Amy, Sophie, Varshika, Tim, Bart, Charlotte, Gary, Vicky, Daisy. Yes, that makes twelve. I thought we were expecting a couple more, but sometimes it's hard to keep track. Ah, half way through Sarah appeared. She said she would just come to take pics, but given that she had originally arranged the song we were playing when she turned up . . .
But we loved it; they loved us; despite all the hassles on transporting our several hundred kilogrammes of crafted metal down to a town-centre pedestrianized street, it was a just Foxwood at its best: long-term friends [and a few newer ones] playing along together by feel. [Cycling back to the Parkinson steps in ecstasy. Well, a bit].