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| The Lewisham Barn Dancers... |
So, I am currently running half an hour late for everything.
I was half an hour late arriving in Lewisham last night. The folk band I play in from time to time were playing at a barn dance. In my car, somewhere in the middle of London (with the melodion player expounding his theory about how Frozen is a thinly-veiled metaphor for homosexuality) I realised that we would not arrive at set-up time. Who drives through central London anyway?
There was time to get ready though, and the gig went quite well, despite me injuring myself on my own piano. It looks like I'll be doing a few functions with iFolk this year, so it was good to remind myself of the tunes. And the posh crisps.
There's always posh crisps at these things - you know the ones: the satisfying crunch between the teeth, the warm flavour and the crack of sea salt. They don't crumble in your fingers and they don't even look greasy. I held one up to the light, examining its perfect undulating texture before slotting it into my mouth like a letter through a postbox. I could eat packets of posh crisps.
I couldn't really. I don't want to be the size of a house.
Anyway, when the crisps were crumbs and the dancers looked at each other, sweatily praying for the sweet merciful end of the evening, we rifled through the End Polkas and swiftly packed up the cars. I got lost driving home from Lewisham (we somehow drove right past St Paul's Cathedral, of all places).
I eventually got back, you guessed it, exactly half an hour late, and just after midnight. I clicked open the front door, set down my box of cables and collapsed, exhausted.
That errant thirty minutes ticked with me through the night and I woke up... late. As I blustered into church, some time later for the 8am practice, I looked at my phone. It was 8:30.
Of course it was.
I couldn't really. I don't want to be the size of a house.
Anyway, when the crisps were crumbs and the dancers looked at each other, sweatily praying for the sweet merciful end of the evening, we rifled through the End Polkas and swiftly packed up the cars. I got lost driving home from Lewisham (we somehow drove right past St Paul's Cathedral, of all places).
I eventually got back, you guessed it, exactly half an hour late, and just after midnight. I clicked open the front door, set down my box of cables and collapsed, exhausted.
That errant thirty minutes ticked with me through the night and I woke up... late. As I blustered into church, some time later for the 8am practice, I looked at my phone. It was 8:30.
Of course it was.
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