The route to our destination divided into parts. First I walked the couple of hundred yards down the road to Celia’s flat. I met her husband Charlie at the gate, off to watch some cricket. I’d already paused to photograph lilies and a poppy, and then found the garden at the flats a sea of white marguerites. Still in their pots, they are apparently destined for a promotion one of Celia and Charlie’s neighbours is involved with.
We set off on foot, seeing a couple of neighbours going about their Sundays. A pause at the local garden farm while Celia used the loo, and I left some flyers.
The farm has fabulous wisteria.
We wanted to get to the venue early as Celia had two spare tickets, and we also wanted to eat locally. we had loads of time, so we dropped by the local city farm.
Suddenly we needed to get to our seats. Harry, who owns the venue, the Vauxhall Teahouse Theatre, had reserved us two comfy chairs at the back.
Bob Flowerdew was a surprise. I had no idea he wore his hair in a long plait down his back. it was all very relaxed, very informal, and I was pleased to see the panel had a pot of tea and wedges of cake on the table in front of them. Radio is so nice. There’s not the starry stuff of television. No make up; presenters in ordinary clothes; the words, the sounds and your imagination. So although we couldn’t see easily unless we sat up, or peeped through gaps between the shoulders of our fellow audience members, it didn’t matter.
The day continued well. But it’s late now, and I want to get to bed soon, so an account of our further adventures will have to wait a while.
You can hear *our* programme on Radio 4 this coming Friday, repeated next Sunday afternoon, and probably available on podcast for a good wee while to come.