As the camera zooms onto the square frowning building in North Kent foreboding builds. Is this the dungeon where "Device Bondage" films its perverted orgies? Does the vain attempt to brighten the exterior with now less than perfect paint indicate aspiration or sinister concealment?

Without apparent stress, the man with the violin case climbs the only steps, as a car hisses by on the wet streets with the sound of a frightened cat's arse.

Is this the replay of the St Valentine's day massacre? Will this thing of ours make its bid for control of the local fast boats to Amsterdam, the diamonds, the drugs, the cheap lager for the holiday camp and trailer park?

Coat collar up, a woman, no longer a girl or a maid, clacks up the slope to the reat door, heels a frenzied staccato. Is this the run for shelter, or a rebel without bladder control fearing to laugh?

The man cradles his violin case in his right arm, and pulls the front door.   A violent crack! rings out.















Yes, it's a rimshot on the bodhran. Inside the Nag's Head (ME3 9RD for Satnavsters - really less than half an hour from Eltham for the benefit of the early birds in January) the monthly Sunday session is in full swing. It started at noon and will go on until maybe 6 or 7 or the session beer runs out. For some strange reason this motley collection of misfits and wierdos never turns any player or singer away, and even the indigenes enjoy.

There will be a barrel of real beer on the bar under gravity (more details later, maybe a barrel plus a box of a different one since we slaughtered the barrel last time).

There will be some dishes of roast tatties to hand round.

There will be central heating AND a fire in the grate our end.



OK, who's up for it this time?

Depending on when the festival season starts, it might be the last one (or the last but one one) until next late autumn.