Temple

The band room was immediately identifiable as such by the heap of twisted music stands on the floor. The sheet music was gone—perhaps used to start the cooking fire in the gymnasium—and there were no instruments. But Viola found half a jar of rosin in a closet, and Kirsten found a mouthpiece for a flute buried under trash. Words spray-painted on the north wall: “The end is here.”

A morning workshop at Lancaster Uni, followed by a train, bus, car combo home.

Mike picks me up at the back of 7 to go to the Shooglenifty gig in Temple Village Hall, picking up Ed, Kyle, and Stevie on the way.

The hall is busy. A mixed crowd of all ages - children dancing on window ledges, older folk trancing out to another blistering gig. Until it’s over.

There’s not much time to hang out with Quee - my lift needs to get home - and I’m just about toast, myself.