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I had two wonderful sessions with a couple of boys on the wards, then it's skipping back up Clarendon Road, finish packing, lift to station, 5 and 1/2 hours on same seat, Plymouth at 9.45pm, tucked up in b and b North Road West with the Olympics. I enjoyed the Happy Hour sign in nearby street.
Next day I meet up with former pupil, Chris, have brought him a steel pan to help with his composition for us. Forgot the sticks, make a pair with rubber bands and chopsticks. Check out Plymouth. See the Barbican and bus.
Met Chris for "a drink". We played pool; then when the first pub closed we went to a second one, and just as we thinking of leaving this wonderful band arrived. As I was attempting to get up the second b and b's stairs at 3.30am [!] I remember the notices about being quiet at night.
The tele is still on when I wake up, just in time for breakfast: glorious mushrooms on toast; have to be out for ten, and wonder off into Plymouth with never again in every step. Walk round the coast from the Hoe [where Drake, allegedly played pre-battle bowls] to the touristy Barbican, sit in the sunshine and nearly finish Barnaby Rudge, a very dark book by one of my favourite authors.
Meet up again with Chris, meet the Arts Director for local festival, discuss Foxwood Steel coming to Plymouth, have a last cuppa in the sunny precinct of Plymouth. The train gets me back to Leeds for a couple of late hours with the Olympics. Next . . . .
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