The info about Walburgas is below this blog.

This cold is a right Librium of a dose. Sleeping on sleeps. No sneezing or fever, almost no coughing, and other functions normal or better, but still totally koshed.

The journey to London on Tuesday (was it ? I cannot for the minute work it out) was on Grand Central, which actually had a train this time. The frost was deep enough to make some of the fields look like they had had snow. Spent most of the journey talking to Mike, ex-army, ex-express dairies, who was full of interesting stories.

Got the train to Farringdon. I called at the Betsey Trotwood but also did a lot of walking around for a possible Little Britton Festival (celebrating Thomas Britton the musical coalman of Clerkenwell Green) linked to the London Festival of Architecture (LFA).

Quite a lot has changed in Clerkenwell since my last Festival there, but I still have access to one of the posterboards, and also have some kudos from what I did before.

I also am getting the feeling that the Walburgas Show may fill up, seeing the capacity is fairly small. I talked to a gloriously mad bloke called Geoff, or perhaps Jeff who was getting excited at the prospect of see my show. He even offered me a drink, which I had to turn down to get to the meeting at the Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA).

My last Little Britton Festival was loosely attached to the 2008 LFA, and I have been getting mails ever since. This meeting was only really an introduction and outline, but being there may make a massive difference. I announced I was looking for help with bringing Hat Throwing to London, and have been offered opportunity.

The bar at the event was selling small bottles of beer for £4.60.

Went to the Masons Arms (which I had found out about in the lift up to the event) with Chris, Louanne and their barge owning mate.

Then back to Kings Cross to use the cheap Thameslink ticket I had bought the day before, only to find that I had to get a replacement bus to London Bridge. I helped a Russian from St. Petersburg (f.k.a Leningrad) called Alexander, which is a coincidence as my uncle Alexander spent time firing Finnish artillery shells at Leningrad during the last world war. We spent the trip talking, or I spent the trip talking, about the history of the places the bus passed, which is mostly of whores and stumpets.

On the train at London Bridge a bloke got on, use the toilet, and got off. As I said to the lass behind me, it showed good thinking. That served as an intro. It turned out she was a sound engineer working on Ghost. She knew about the hardware shop I blogged about a few weeks ago, and took a flyer and promised to put it up on the theatre corkboard.