what happened next

The trip to Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club with two family members had been booked for a couple of months and I didn't want to miss it. I'm a sax player, and I've never been to Ronnie Scott's. But the mini beast-from-the-east was coming and I knew our lane would be waist-high in snow drifts again and I might not get back for a meeting on Monday.

So I spent from waking up on Saturday until 2 p.m. trying to decide whether or not to go. Dave couldn't stand the tension and retreated to the freezing cold shed to make more kumiko. 

At two o clock I decided YES! and half an hour later, we set off to Chesterfield station. Once in London I had a pleasant evening with the friend who'd so kindly offered me a bed. I have never been in a colder London, so was pleased to start the next day with porridge, date syrup and walnuts. Yum.

We were going to a lunchtime gig at Ronnie Scott's - music plus lunch in an informal night-club type setting. (Photos will follow later, which is why you're having to make do with one of porridge.)The jazz singer was superb and the musicians inspirational. Unfortunately that particular combo didn't have a sax player, but I learned a lot from the improvs by the guitarist.  It was such a treat, and now I'm hungry for more, and flicking through the programme to choose another gig.

I rang Dave from St Pancras before catching the train home. He said our lane was impassable with drifts, and he couldn't get the car out to collect me from Chesterfield station, so the plan was to carry on to Sheffield and get a taxi to Zoe's house. 

I have never before had so much fun on a train journey. Two women sitting next to me entertained me with hilarious conversation all the way to Derby. Thank you D.J. and Pippa! Such excellent copy. They may well make an appearance in a future novel. 

I stayed at Zoe's that night and the next morning the thaw had started, so I got back on the bus to Bakewell for my meeting, and home on another bus afterwards.

I made it: me and my bus pass.