Saturday 9th June 2018

A huge day of stuff.

I mean huge,

Think of the biggest thing you can think of.

Bigger even than that!

But the biggest part, maybe, I can't tell you about as it is embargoed.

Yes, you read that right.

I received a message to be at a certain car park in a certain town at a certain time. This meant rearranging plans we had just made for the day, which now would have to accommodate a two hour drive north, an hour's stay, then somehow meld in with the original plans to go to London.

The meeting was maybe the only chance to see something in the UK, so not be be passed over.

Anyway, we were up at ready for eight, I thought that maybe we might find some churches there to explore. So getting to the area early seemed like a good idea.

Anyway, with traffic quite light up the M20, the sun trying to break through the light cloud, it seemed to be a great day coming together. We cruised through the Dartford Tunnel, into Essex and round until the right exit, then north for half an hour, before turning off the main road down some lovely quiet country lanes.

We didn't have much luck with churches, with the ones we tried were locked fast, and most unwelcoming, no matter how attractive the village is, not pleasant at all.

So we go to the meeting point, were people of a certain age and with a certain interest are gathering. A local gentleman has a list of names and is ticking them off, so that just after 11 we move off.

An hour later we return, Jools have been drinking coffee in the pub whose car park we used. I have a soft drink before we drive back south to London, the intention being that we would find a fine country pub and eat and drink well in the beer garden. I had in my mind's eye the sort of whitewashed timber framed former coaching inn I would prefer, and that it would have a fine selection of ales to choose from.

Only it wasn't so easy; we drove for half an hour finding nothing but pubs advertising Fosters and Sky Sports, and when we did find suitable looking places, none did food! Three in a row did no food, and with us about to turn onto the main road we come to a fine looking place, but also did serve Shepherd Neame. We had come all this way to find Kentish beer!

We have the choice of tables in the beer garden, and a huge menu. The chef waited on our order as there were no other customers. So Jools had pan fried salmon and I had a Mexican burger. And once the food came the sun broke through and once again we toasted our very good fortune to be living this life.

After we ate we carried on our journey south, back to the motorway and back into Kent, though diverting off to park at Ebbsfleet as we were going to catch a train into London.

Jools had booked parking in advance, we parked near the station, walked up, bought our ticket then went down onto the platform when within two minutes a twelve coach train rolled in, meaning it would be just 15 minutes before we were at St Pancras.

We had four hours to kill, so we walked round the new developments at Kings Cross, like I had done earlier in the week, but on a Saturday it is a different place; street theatre, street food, crowds, ice cream cans and so on.

But it is a space that is being used, even if we look at the prices of a flat built into the old gasometer holders, a one bedroom flat was going for £895,000! Eeek indeed. A tree bedroom; spacious it said, was a million and a half.

We walk back to Kings Cross, look at the dinosaur again, and I look in the trainshed for Azumas, but none were there, just a EMT class 43, apparently in the wrong station as it should be in St Pancras next door. There's bound to be an explanation

We now had to get to The Barbican, but we find that there were no Tube trains running east, on any line, though in hindsight we could have caught a Northern Line train to Bank, so we go back out onto the street and get a taxi; take us to the best pub near to the Barbican Centre I says. Hmm, it'll be quiet there on a Saturday he says back. Good, we just want a drink and a quiet sit down.

He takes us down Pentonville Road into the City, dropping us off outside the centre. We find a pub a short walk away, and get a small table and have a beer. And another, and to go with the third I try to order two cheeseboards, but a plate of triple cooked chips comes. We could have those for free we were told, and one cheeseboard comes. And half the price for two cheeseboards.

A series of interesting people, one of whom might have been Yoko Ono, or not, came in to claim a table, meet friends or try to ignore their children. We were both fascinated by "Yoko's" shoes, which seem to he half ton wooden blocks that clump clump as she staggers after her beloved.

We were in town to see a concert, but the best band you have never heard of: Microdisney.

By the wonders of the internet, I was able to tell a friend of mine living in Cambodia of the band's first two reunion gigs in Dublin, which took place last week. And Michael told me when the follow up one, in London was planned, so we could both get tickets. Yes, he flew halfway round the world to see two gigs by a band you have never heard of.

We sit outside, the wander round the centre hoping to meet him and his wife, Mau Mau, but we see apparently everyone else, all of a similar age to ourselves, some with faded 80s t shirts of the band, so clutching vynil albums hoping to get them signed.

The centre is a huge arts complex, built among high class brutalist housing built in the late 60s to replace an area that suffered worse from the Blitz during the war.

We sit on the terrace looking over to St Giles Cripplegate, a church I visited towards the end of last year, and proves every time to be almost impossible to find the way to through the warren of stairs and passageways of the Barbican.

Showtime came, and we all file into the auditorium, hushed talk fills the air, and to my left Michael and his wife come in, I rush over and hug them both. It is only our second meeting, but a good one. We have to cut short the greetings as in front of us the instruments are made ready and the house lights dimmed.

I won't go into details, but suffice to say it was a great night, and one that could be repeated for dozens of other influential 80s bands that were overlooked at the time. The one thing Microdisney had, or among the advantages they had over everyone else; tunes, bittersweet songs and their lead singer, Cathal.

He was a force of primal energy, putting all of his self into each line, spitting out the bitterest, and smiling at the sweeter ones.

It finishes at quarter to ten, Jools and I rush out to flag a taxi down, which we do, to whisk us to St Pancras where there would be a train every 20 minutes.

A 12 car train was waiting, so we get on somewhere near the middle, and wait 15 minutes for it to half fill up before it pulls out into the night, just a little daylight was left in the sky. But that is lost as we plunge into the tunnel to Stratford and again once we leave.

We get off at Ebbsfleet, and after some barrier trouble, we are able to leave and in a 40 minute blast down the A2 we are pulling up outside home at quarter to midnight. We had been away 17 hours, and we were bushed.

But a good day all round. Phew.