BritFeg 98

Now that I am safely (if a little groggily) returned to the good 'ol US of A, and am once again connected, I can finally reveal to you the true details of Britfeg 98. Seriously, meeting Mike Godwin, Jonathan Turner and Tony Blackman was definitely a highlight of my trip and despite the absence of tinfoil sculptures, flaming cow innards or pungent oriental squid, a good time was definitely had by all. Once again I can reiterate Bayard's now immortal words; "Fegs are the nicest people". For me, Britfeg 98 started, on the afternoon of May 24th, with a two hour drive from my rented "quaint Cotswolds cottage" in rural Oxfordshire. (I now know that "quaint" is a technical term indicating ceilings too low for grown adults to stand upright, unlikely corners and projections, baffling electrical systems and unreliable plumbing). Soon however, I was in uncharacteristically sunny London and after only two or three circumnavigations of the Hammersmith roundabout I located a small lane leading to the river Thames with - miracle of miracles - a parking place. Seconds later my cranium encountered the beamed cieling of The Dove - a "quaint" public house of some antiquity (Charles Dickens is supposed to have written something or other here, I think) with stunning views of the river. Searching the bar, I completely missed Jonathan's brilliant home-produced Robyn T-shirt AND Mike's small-but-perfectly-formed Thoth pin. Fortunately Mike guessed who I was and barred my path with a quizzical look. Despite never having seen him before I knew it must be he, and soon introductions were complete and serious consumption of Fullers Pride could begin. Jonathan produced photos of Robyn's most recent "excursion" in the Isle of Wight, and Tony and I (he's another minidisc enthusiast) compared MD recorders. (Mine is bigger, in case you were wondering -- though it's how you use it that matters, of course.) Having waited long enough to be sure that Gary had not changed his mind/job/girlfriend/band, and with no compelling gig options available, we decided to go somewhere to eat. Being a 50% vegetarian group we decided on a veggie place that Jonathan knew and piled into the Fegmobile. Gunning the powerful 125cc diesel engine, we then lurched towards Shepherds Bush. Having a rental car has many advantages. One of these is being able to park on a less than salubrious street under the watchful eye of a trio of shaven-headed young men with beer cans and have no misgivings whatsoever. A short walk later we reached the restaurant. Closed. Well it was dinner time, so the proprietors were probably out eating somewhere. Back to the retrieve the car (unscathed) and one change of plan later, we found ourselves in Chiswick at an Italian pasta/pizza place. Given the rare (for London) balmy weather, we chose a table outside where we could best enjoy the fumes from the passing traffic and the serenading of the passing football hooligans. After dinner (during which I tried to explain the Feg appeal of Dan Bern by playing a recording of the track "Tiger Woods" to the amusement/bemusement of those present), Tony produced his trusty mobile phone and from right there is the middle of Chiswick High Street we attempted to communicate with the Great Quail mothership. Sadly all we got was an answerphone, and since the message did not begin "Hello, Great Quail here ...", we could not be sure it was the right number. This did not stop us from leaving a suitably bizarre message, however - including Mike Godwin in full song ... top that! By this time it was late and time to leave. Too late in Mike's case - in all the excitement he'd missed his last train home! There was only one thing to do -- head the train off at the next station. Now, Mike's home in Bath is a long way from London and the trains' next stop would be in Reading, some 50 miles or so to the West and about as far South from my route back to Oxfordshire. Nevertheless, anything for a fellow Feg - and hey, he *did* buy me a pint. Thus began the Feg version of "Toad's wild ride". After a high speed dash down the motorway (or at least, as fast as the 125cc diesel powered Fegmobile would take us) we took the second of several exits marked "Reading" and headed - without a map - for the city center, betting that the station would at least be signposted from there. We managed to find the city center and indeed there were signs for the station, but after following them in at least one complete circle we figured that the place must be disguised to confuse tourists. Finally Mike spotted a rank of black taxicabs and on the principle that they must be waiting for train passengers, Mike leapt heroically from the Fegmobile and disappeared into the night. I left, not knowing whether he'd made it or not. (I discovered on my return that, although we actually got there 5 minutes after the train's scheduled departure time, the train was 10 minutes late, so all was well). Thanks to Mike, Tony and Jonathan for a great evening. I'm only sorry that Gary couldn't make it also. Maybe next time?! I hope the "Fegfest" concept continues to grow and prosper. It sounds like the Pennsylvania party was a blast -- and we had a pretty good time too ...in our own reserved British way. ;) ~N