Back to Crouch Hill

Today we made the lengthy pilgrimage to Crouch Hill to see Pete Cooper. So much for improvements to the Silverlink/North London Line. It is now styled as London Overground and has stuck on black tube signs on the side of the trains. The trains are still dirty and crowded. Phil and I have to plan our exit from the train several stops before we have to change at Gospel Oak. Feel sweaty and panicky at the thought. All ok though. 

We get off the train and look for the times of the trains going back. A random fellow passenger tells us that they go at half past and on the hour, which we know is completely wrong. In the excitement I have forgotten to touch out my oyster card. After walking along with the fellow passenger chatting about how long she's lived in CH and how many times she's travelled on the filthy overcrowded North London Line, we go for a quick snack in the Larrick as we're early for the lesson. Long for a quick glass of wine, too, especially with it being Friday night and therefore traditional. Decide that the fabled bow hold will be even more elusive if I do that and the lesson will be a washout for me as a result. So, sensibly we share a plate of tasty morsels and some fizzy water, and stride purposefully up the hill towards Pete's flat. 

Wonder about what it would be like driving to Pete's for our lesson.  It would certainly be less stressful in terms of getting on and off the trains with the violins, work  bags etc. We get to Pete's flat and think about how to park on such a steep hill, as we are wondering about this, Pete pulls up in his car and we think he'll demonstrate, however, he drives into his own parking space behind the flats.

Lesson is good, but I can really feel that I haven't been for ages and have been practising in a rather slipshod way. Having mastered the bow hold to a certain degree, I must now focus on holding the violin in a more effective way. We book another lesson for three weeks' time to avoid lapsing too much. 

On the journey home we meet several people who notice the fiddles and chat, which is nice and surprisingly unusual. One says he is a bass player, and encourages us to get in touch should we ever need one. Wonder how we would have got in touch as he doesn't offer any contact details.

Best of all is meeting Barry Grant on the 267 bus, the last leg of the journey. Aah Barry, Luthier and maker of Phil's electric fiddle. Late night smoking and backgammon companion. He's on his way to see the lovely Anna. We wish them both well as we get off the bus, and head off for a fantastic chicken salad takeaway and then home.