The Daily Novel

……….which was the hit of our last party at Roderick Road. Not quite my original intention. Our parties here have shattered the ear drums of he neighbours with live music. Mostly the neighbours have not minded since we have never done more than two parties a year and the neighbours came unless they were away.

I had hoped we would end with American Pye by the all female group who first sang together before the Spice Girls were out of nappies. It first happened spontaneously when the friends of my daughters were in their late teens. The conductor and lead vocalist was Becca, then living in the street, who was two or three years older and the leader of this particular gang.

Becca has long since moved to Milton Keynes, but she usually manages to come back for our parties. And American Pye became the inevitable finale, with the girls in a line accompanying the music with some exhuberant high kicking. Alas, since our move has been delayed to the end of Julay Becca and all but three of the gang were away on holiday.

I tried to persuade those three to sing it again. Forgetting that in life stuff happens. Forgetting the message of one of the Pye songs.

All roads lead to where I stand.

No matter what I planned.

But we did have some live music, thanks to Mary Taylor, who had got through the trauma of moving from Gospel Oak (across the Highgate Road to Dartmouth Park Hill) more than twenty years ago. Mary was part of a group who revived the Victorian music hall in the neighbourhood. Her favourite number was Champagne Charlie is my name. And she turned up in her trade mark black frock coat with top hat and cane and turned the living room into a stage with Janet bashing out the music on the piano.

It was totally appropriate because this house was built in 1878 when the Victorian music hall was at the peak of its popularity and the local pubs had pianos not giant television screens.

But our party was of course a wake. In quiet corners tears were being shed. And as the party wound to its close I was privelged to be part of an audience of six in the kitchen, when one of the Pye gang, Daisy, suddenly broke into a mournful solo, which I did not know, but which totally fitted the mood of the occasion.

Must end now. My wife has just got up and from the expession on her face it is clear the Daily Novel will have to wait. I have to devote myself to three days of intensive packing.