This is getting obsessive!
Can't help dredging up memories, but it's good to record them somewhere. I've got buckets of them - enough to fill a book. In fact, I think I'll write one. Too late to call it "My Way", as that would have done.

Paul/Sue/Brad/Wez: I heard tell of a collection of notes and jottings assembled by Nick. If these surface during the horrible tidying-up process, I'd like a shufti, as they might add something to the project. I've also got some letters from from Norfolk - rambling reminiscences which I responded to, trying to correct facts, dates etc. so I could get my own memories in order. Nick's memory, though jumbled, was incredible.

A couple of recollections for now though:

During the abortive stay in Newquay, we had to ford the River Gannel, on the way to the pub, holding instruments above our heads. The route took us through a municipal park. "Give me your autoharp!" barks Nick. He took it and flattened an ornamental duck, which we tried to boil on a camping stove. Excruciatingly nauseous! (They were strong autoharps then!) Nick wrote a daft banjo tune called "Gannel Romp", to commemorate the evening.

Les Western at Romford Folk Club introduced us to Jimmie Rodgers, Jack Elliot, and Carter Family numbers. Nick was taken with the idea of "riding the rods", that featured in hobo ditties. We weren't familiar with American trains, so had to make do with riding on the buffers of the clanky diesel railcar from Grays to Upminster. You had also to get on and off the station undetected, running through the brakeyards. (Well, piles of pigeons in wicker boxes) You gotta live that song!

Toodle-pip, dear boy!