Piano man

Full of busy today.

Parkrun

The volunteers were wearing high-vis vests and loitering around the bike shed, where we have the table for volunteer organising. I was chatting to the funnel manager, who was outside, but leaning through the bars.

‘Never wear a high-vis,’ he said. ‘Someone will only ask you something.’

Not long after, a couple of first-timers rocked up and asked the funnel manager about what to do.

He explained the workings briefly, and said there’d be a briefing for first-timers, then turned back to me.

‘Never wear a high-vis,’ I said. ‘Someone will only ask you something.’

Shenanigans with the timekeeping kept the funnel manager busier than usual. There were no problems with my finish tokens.

Transport

Is there any kind of train, other than a cancelled one, worse than a rail replacement bus?

I saw one once that made me chuckle: on the front, it said ‘I’m a train!’

I caught the train to Ely, where I boarded the rail replacement bus to Cambridge, then walked for forty-five minutes to neither of these rooms.

Writing

I was in Cambridge for this month’s meeting of a writing group I’ve been going to for a few years. I learn a lot from it, which I now pass on to my Ely writing group.

I was actually early for once. The lady who runs it asked how my Ely writing group was doing; I’d been itching for this conversation.

I told her that I’d taken one of her blog posts and gone through it with my group. It involves exercises for working out the through-line of your story. Everyone got something from it, which I was really pleased about; she was delighted.

Eating

I walked for fifteen minutes back into the town centre, where I had sushi for tea.

Out out

I met friends and friends of one of those friends in the pub for the birthday of the friend who was everyone there’s friend. We huddled round a table too small for seven people, chatting and laughing.

At eight o’clock, we left to go to a piano bar on the top floor of an Italian restaurant. I’d never been to a piano bar; I wasn’t alone in envisaging someone hammering away on an old joanna* in the corner while we sipped cocktails. Apparently, we hadn’t read the website properly: there would be singing.

‘Singing?!’

‘Yes, singing.’

A man popped through the door between the restaurant and the stairs up to the piano bar. He said they didn’t open till nine and the pianoing wouldn’t start till half nine. Apparently, someone else hadn’t read the website properly, although they insisted that the website had said eight.

We went to a different pub, whose only vacant seats were vacant for good reason: a speaker was blaring away right overhead.

Back at the piano bar, we were early enough to get seats with a good view of the piano keyboard. I like to watch people’s hands when they play musical instruments: it’s fascinating how they can do such different things with each hand.

A piano man sat down at the piano and played us a selection of songs. There was something for everyone, with the audience singing along as they saw fit. He finished the first half with ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel, then said he’d take requests for a fiver each, which he’d sing after the interval.

Three of us wanted ‘I’m gonna be (500 miles)’ by The Proclaimers; one of us wanted some Barry Manilow. They turned out to be popular choices with the audience, along with Chesney Hawkes, who someone else requested.

It was really good fun!

Transport

Alas, I had to leave to catch the last rail replacement bus at quarter past eleven, in the middle of the second half.

It was the olden days, when I lived miles away from town, and my last bus was earlier than everyone else’s. This is why I never liked living in the sticks with no public transport.

I got to the train station in plenty of time. An apparently random man wearing a long black coat but no high-vis pointed out a white coach and said I should get one because it was direct to Ely, where I would be able to catch the train home from.

I checked with the driver just to make sure; my throat was already husky. The apparently random man was correct.

This is how it is with high-vis: wear it, and you’ll look official, and people will trust you; don’t wear it, and you won’t, and they won’t (necessarily).

The bus ride back to Ely was quiet and quick; even the roadworks on Milton Road didn’t particularly slow us down.

I arrived back at Ely with loads of time before the train left. I was looking forward to getting home; I was pretty knackered after such a busy day.

Home again

It was after midnight when I got in, legs tired, throat tired, eyes tired. I was pretty tired, really.


* British rhyming slang for piano, but only if you pronounce piano as /pɪˈanə/ (peeANNa), which I do ordinarily.