The Strange World of Axel Fendersson

Right, well, Frank has demanded more posts, and so posts he will get. Anything to put off doing this blasted problem sheet.

First up, Cheltenham Folk Festival, the weekend before last. Overall, the Festival was very enjoyable, especially the concerts featuring Bellowhead and Eliza Carthy & The Ratcatchers. Our gig, however, was crap.

Jessica and I were playing in the Music Library, which turned out to essentially be the music section of the public library. Libraries are not very good venues, acoustically, but in all honesty that was the least of our worries. What was more concerning was the lack of an audience. Since it was a fairly low-key free event on the sidelines of the festival, and we were hardly top of the bill anyway, there were no more than twenty people in the library, including friends and family who had come to see us. Additionally, some of the people there were not listening to the music, but instead were using the library computers, or otherwise being distracting.

Playing music to an appreciative live audience is the best feeling in the world. But not only does the presence of an audience give you a great rush, it also focuses the mind, and the energy of the event translates into an energy in the performance. Without an audience, neither of us played very well. We didn’t make fools of ourselves or anything, but our performance felt lacklustre and unpolished. So all in all the whole thing was rather disappointing. On the other hand, we still got free season tickets to the festival for it, so we were both happy to chalk this one up to experience and move on.

Moving forward, last weekend, Jessica, my father and I headed over to East Anglia to teach a morris workshop to some dancers from around the Norfolk/Suffolk border. All the people there had some experience of dancing already, but were not familiar with the Ducklington morris tradition, or at least not the version as interpreted by the current Ducklington Morris, which was the subject of the workshop. This went well, with Jessica and my father doing most of the the actual teaching, and me providing the music. There was then an ale in the evening, at which the food was excellent. We stayed overnight with a couple of the local dancers, both of whom were lovely people, and then headed back.

My journey back, however, was something of an adventure in itself. We got back home fine, and then after an early dinner, I headed off to the station. My train was delayed by about 25 minutes (a relief, because otherwise I’d have missed it – not that, as it happened, that mightn’t have been less trouble in the long run), which meant that it came in immediately behind an identical-looking train. As a result I looked up at the board, saw that my train was arriving, saw a train that looked like it pulling into the station, and promptly hopped on a train bound for Gatwick. This would not have been a problem if I had realised my error straight away, as both trains went via Reading, at which station I could have changed trains with no harm done. However, since neither train stopped between Oxford and Reading, I didn’t realise I was on the wrong train until it left Reading in the wrong direction. Since this was an express train, the next stop was in London.

In the end, my journey time was more than doubled by this colossal balls-up, which also meant that I missed the last bus and had to walk back to halls from the station (about 3 miles). And, to add more frustration to an already tiresome business, I discovered on Monday morning that I had managed to leave my bag on the train. Whether or not I will get it back remains to be seen; I contacted the lost property office on Monday, and they said it wouldn’t get back to the central office until Thursday. However, since there were very few people on the train when I left it, and there weren’t many stops left before the train terminated, it’s unlikely it will have been stolen, and I think there’s a good chance it will have been picked up at journey’s end.