Mmm... I was a user and an abuser of folk clubs - in a sense. It all started because, more than anything, I wanted to play guitar. In 1964, if you didn't join a band, and if you couldn't afford anything electric, then the folk club offered a fairly safe environment for a solo performer. It was welcoming, reasonably open-minded and a cheap evening out.

I have to say, in all honesty, that the club in my home town was all of those - and it was also very decently and respectably middle-class, being run by a well-bred doctor and a retired lady schoolteacher. Typical and popular guests were Jackie & Bridie and the Spinners. The residents were a nice male/female/male trio who played double bass and guitar and sang and were a kind of twee Peter, Paul & Mary. (I can't hear "Muleskinner Blues" without thinking of them). I found it all slightly unexciting and - before you bring down your righteous folky wrath on me - remember that this was nearly 50 years ago, I was young and rebellious, and my heroes were Big Bill Broonzy, Brownie McGhee, Howling Wolf, Davy Graham, Bert Jansch and similar. I was an arrogant little twat - and sometimes you have to be that to exert your own personality and go your own way.

But, after a while, a short diet of Pete Seeger, and the occasional gig with Alex Campbell, I started joining in the odd chorus song, culminating - one autumn evening - in joining drunkenly in with "Here's good luck to the landlord, Good luck to the Barley Mow" outside the pub at midnight on my stag night.

It's been downhill ever since, really...