Live Music

Today

In her latest letter Beatrice described a very jolly Friday night at a local wine bar that culminated in live music. "I really like it when that happens", I enthused.

In My Day

I recall one event, back in 1998. We decided that the way to celebrate Mother's Day would be to book a Landmark Trust property in Suffolk. We chose this location because it also meant that Becky, at that time in university in Norwich, could meet us there.

We took the dog who greatly enjoyed his time at this property, which is a mediaeval manor house with no chimney, only louvres to release the smoke (not that we were in this part; we stayed in the new, Elizabethan wing). The only way to get to the house was on foot. We parked the car at the field gate, donned wellies, put our bags into the thoughtfully provided wheelbarrows, and were all set.

On the way we had passed through a pretty little village called Hawkedon. We pulled up outside The Queen's Head, which was advertising Mother's Day lunches, and Paul went in and booked a table. Perfect.

Sunday dawned fair and chilly and, leaving Cas happily playing with some little piles of stones, we walked across the fields to the pub. We were greeted by the Australian landlady, who looked like a contender for England's roughest landlady. We had a fair-to-middling lunch. The landlady was very chatty, and when Paul had got over being told that she'd thought him to be a "right w****r" when she first saw him, we were chatty too. She told us that there was going to be some live music that afternoon and why didn't we stay on?

"Well, we would," we said "But we've left the dog at the cottage." "Oh, that's alright, my barman will drive you over to get him!" Which he did; Cas arrived and was very happy with a bowl of water and some packets of  crisps of his very own.

Mum decided that a few more Harvey's Bristol Creams couldn't do her any harm and talked long and volubly to anyone who'd listen about her lovely granddaughter. Her lovely granddaughter proved her student credentials by putting away several pints of the local ale, "Old Ken" by name and playing snooker with the locals. Paul also put away much Old Ken and became very jocose. I concentrated on red wine and listened to many anecdotes delivered by the landlord. Did we dance a bit? Maybe.

As it began to get dusk, mindful of the walk across the  fields, we said we'd have to go. The landlady again proffered the help of her barman. He was the only one who hadn't been drinking and, forgiving Paul for an earlier remark when he'd complained about his elbow being stiff from pulling pints, to the effect that it was the only thing that was (let's blame Old Ken), popped us all, including Cas, into his car when the music had finished. We only had the walk across the field from the gate to accomplish which we did. Paul & Becky instantly went to bed to work through the Old Ken while Mum and I stayed by the fire, talking and updating the log book.

I remember all of this. What I can't remember anything about was the music except that it was very loud.