| UK FALL TOUR 2004
Cobham, UK Threshold Record Store Thursday Afternoon Oct 7th, 2004 On The Road With MaggieMay... I woke up early Thursday morning, tired and disoriented to discover Darling Hubby putting on his shoes. He was off to Paris for the day via the fabulous Eurostar. My ticket (unrefundable and unexchangable) was going unused. After all, who in their right mind would spend the day in Paris, when you could go to Cobham and see The Moody Blues? It had been a difficult decision, but I’ve been to Paris, been on the Eurostar and have already taken my best possible photo of the Eiffel Tower. The prospect of attending a rare, open fan greet was simply too tempting. Paris would have to do without me! I was awfully tired, and laid there thinking that it *could* have been the party in the bar after the concert the night before. Or the party in the bar the night before that. Or the party in the bar the night before that! (I see a pattern developing here.) London is ALWAYS a wonderful time, lots to do, with wonderful restaurants and a bevy of friends and fellow travelers. The concept of pacing oneself is out of the question! It’s impossible not to try to do everything. While Monday was spent relaxing and catching up with Red, Tuesday afternoon was high tea (a truly marvelous experience) with MoodyVal. Dinner with the Broggy Family followed on the heels of tea and Tuesday’s concert was crowned by a champagne night-cap with my favorite English philosopher. I was quite taken with the two Scots I had met in Glasgow. I had invited the Pride of Kilbirnie to join us in London, enticing him with my extra front row seat. It worked! Sid was GREAT fun at the RAH on Wednesday night, sweetly singing to me the beautiful Moodies’ love songs along with Justin and John, and doing a fine job of it. What a great time! We made our way back to the hotel bar (conveniently overlooking the hotel lobby) after the concert and continued on for as long as we could. Since DH was dumping us for the delights of Paris, we harangued (and tempted) Sid until he finally agreed to be our escort for the Cobham Greet. There’s nothing quite as attractive or gallant as a Scot! It must come from wearing a kilt! Now that I think about it, I can’t believe we didn’t insist he WEAR his kilt. Darn it all! I know *I* have certain questions about kilts that I have pondered for years. A recent UK newspaper article stated that 77% of Scot men wear NOTHING under their kilts. While a number wear boxers or briefs, apparently 3% wear thongs or lady’s underwear. I assume the last group are sensitive Scots who have spent some time in Paris. ; ) Though I was willing to drive down early to Cobham, one of our group enthusiastically volunteered to train down and plant our flag at the door, seeing it as a Moody Adventure. I love enthusiasm and I want to encourage that beautiful trait in others. I couldn’t shake off the tiredness, but got up, got ready and got coffeed and was downstairs at noon for the trip to Cobham. I really enjoy car rides around England, and particularly in and around London. Someone else who knows the way drives you around and it’s so effortless on my part. All I’m required to do is enjoy the scenery. I stopped being uneasy about the whole driving on the left thang my first visit in 2000. shrug You get used to it. It was a VERY nice drive to Cobham, and really too short – about an hour. The greet was to start at 2pm and had been advertised as being between 2 and 3:00. That didn’t seem like very much time to me! We speculated as to how many fans might attend and tried to count up all the Americans who had come to the RAH. Our curiosity was soon satisfied. We drove by the record store and as our driver circled around to drop us off, we got a good look at the LONG line that had formed by 1pm. It was pretty impressive!  I
usually have a pretty good handle about what’s going on; Thursday was an
exception. I safely made it across the street and obediently took
my place at the end of the line for want of anything else to do.
Angel and Little Star went off to find Kate, our valiant adventurer.
The nice English fellow in front of me struck up a conversation.
He was there as a favor for an American friend. Did I know Cherrie?
I was amazed! Yes, I did. : ) We talked for a bit
and then I was greeted by the fellow who had taken the place in line behind
me. He was there with his preteen son and both were friendly and
pleasant. We were busily talking when Angel made her way to retrieve
me. I was having a good time back in line, but I think she was afraid
of losing me. Kate indeed had been the FIRST person there around
8am and had greeted Phil when he had arrived. I understand he was
astonished, but such is the love for music.
We passed a number of people I knew or recognized and more surprisingly (for me) a number of people I had never seen before. Kate was perched in her rightful #1 spot by the door and was enjoying everything immensely.  I
had made my pilgrimage (a requirement of all Moody Fans, much like the
lifetime trip to Mecca for a follower of Islam) in 2002 and it was true
to my memory – no outside changes. Threshold is a 2 story building
on a busy street in quaint little Cobham. It’s simply a record store
on the first floor, with advertisements and promotional material for an
array of artists in its windows. It’s modest, but very nice.
The second story is the site of The Moody Blues offices. I’ve never
been up there, but I assume it is presided over by their *accountant* Ms
Ivy Stewart, formerly the secretary of the Official Fan Club. Those
years as fan club secretary seem to have taken their toll, for I’ve noticed
Ms Stewart is NEVER around when The Moodies play London. Too many
trash-stealing American fans on the loose, I suppose! (Ed:
snicker, snicker, snicker)
The single front door is in the left corner as you face the shop and a fence corners that side of the building. The long queue ran from the front door, across the front of the building, past the carpark entrance and toward the pub next door.  The
line was well on its way to the pub and past the carpark when we arrived.
The people in the front were scrunched up against the door and the corner
area became increasingly crowded as both pro and amateur fan photographers
crowded up, all trying to negotiate a decent view. I wasn’t jostled,
but I sure as hell felt hemmed in. Sid turned up and it was comforting
to have a big guy with us girls. He made the mistake of lamenting
that he had nothing for The Moodies to sign. I handed over my KEYS
album and Gabe’s photo of Gabe and Graeme, batted my eyelashes and said,
“Here you are”!
Close to 2pm Phil, the long-time Threshold Record store manager, came up to the door and spent quite some time trying to affix the official ribbon across it, attempting to staple the ribbon and not having much success. Little Star tried to help him, and risked having her fingers stapled in the process while Phil dubiously allowed Kate to hold the official scissors. After a number of attempts, he got the ribbon nicely in place, only to have one of the pro photographers (they have PRO stamped in ink on their foreheads) snag it with his backpack as he tried to limbo underneath it. The whole ribbon process was started again, but Phil got it back on quickly and was ready for the Rock ‘n Roll Dignitaries. John and Graeme had been spotted inside the record store. I kept checking my watch (being on my feet is not my favorite place to be) and finally heard the cheers that announced the arrival of Mr Hayward’s Mercedes in the carpark. 
It wasn’t long before the official ribbon cutting ceremony marking the
grand reopening of the Threshold Record Store. I thought I’d snap
off a few shots and got some beautiful ones of Kate’s lovely auburn hair.
LOL!!! I was surprised that Justin and John let Graeme use scissors,
after all, he *is* a drummer. A WILD number of photos were taken
and excitement rippled through the line. It REALLY felt crowded then
and though no one was rough, it was a challenge to a normal person’s claustrophobia.
The three Moody Blues disappeared and Phil came up to start the Greet. We had been told prior to the ribbon cutting to limit it to two items to be signed, but just before we entered the store, a voice suggested keeping it to one. Hmmmmm It’s not that I wasn’t willing but I already had two items out. Though I had hoped to take a few photos inside of the Greet proper, there simply wasn’t time. We rushed to the counter (with The Moodies safely behind it) and quickly threw down our items to be autographed. It was impossible not to think of the people waiting hopefully at the back of the line. John made a special point of making eye contact and smiling, as he always does. I handed Justin a package of gorgeous Monte Carlo photos from SueC and he politely and unsmilingly accepted them and turned to put them aside. He looked sick and a bit tired. I was walking out of the store when I heard Graeme exclaim to Sid: WAIT!!! THIS isn’t you! I KNOW this man! Sid got him to sign the photo anyway. I left the store laughing. It was a trick to get OUT of the record store. People were crowded up pretty closely and were very excited. I pushed my way out, negotiated a safe path through the crowd and headed toward The Old Bear Tavern next door, and was soon joined by Sid and The Girls.  I
felt like I’d been through an ordeal and I wouldn’t have missed it for
the world. We visited over drinks and greeted subsequent survivors
as they came thru the pub door. An acquaintance told me a friend
had ridden his horse into Cobham, made his way to The Old Bear for a drink
(the friend, not the horse) and found it over run with Moody Fans.
Reports said that everyone in the line got to “greet” The Moodies and several
people said that after everyone had been served, they went in for a second
helping, getting other items signed and having a more relaxed chance to
talk to the guys. Everyone I talked to was quite pleased with the
experience. Perhaps more remodeling will become necessary, oh perhaps
in 2006, just in time for the next UK Tour. It didn’t look to me
like a lot had been done to the store other than the counter being moved.
Hey, ANY excuse for a party! Angel rose to the occasion (she always does) and called the local taxi service and ordered us, on Simon’s recommendation, a “people-mover”. I crawled out of the bar with great effort, feeling totally done in. ALL I could think of was my comfortable bed, room service, peace and REST. Kate’s eyes were burning from her early outing and Angel seemed ready for a little rest, but there were stalwart others in the van who were ready to party. Little Star suggested a dinner out and though an attractive prospect, I was just too beat. I pitifully tried to beg off, but someone in the car announced “Oh, you know Maggie. SHE’LL go!” sigh The driver dropped us off at my hotel and I warned them that we had to go to dinner NOW before I collapsed. Just the sight of a bed, even in a showroom window, would have been enough to put me to sleep. Sid had noticed a Greek/Mediterranean restaurant across from the hotel and we gamboled across busy Kensington. It was Persian, not Greek, but that was close enough. It was early evening and only a few tables were taken. I felt a new life within (I don’t mean that literally). Sid proved to be quite knowledgeable about Persian cuisine and ordered a combination appetizer platter and some Chilean white wine for us. It was a mixed decision. The combination platter of hummus, chicken salad and eggplant relishes was fantastic – we licked it clean. The wine was another matter altogether. For all my big talk, I’m truly timid about alcohol. I don’t particularly care for wine nor do I understand it. I understand Coca-Cola. I can intelligently discuss the relative merits of Diet Coke vs Diet Pepsi and can wax philosophical on the pleasures of fountain vs canned. That’s what I know! The purpose of liquor to me is inebriation. If you don’t drink to feel drunk, then why do you drink? Therefore, I understand tequila, and I appreciate it. Wine lies somewhere in no mans’ land. Hey, if it’s THERE, then I’ll drink it. Sid, on the other hand, proved to be even more knowledgeable about wine than he was about our Persian menu. It’s just another thing to appreciate about him! He ordered the wine and *I* ordered a Diet Coke (it tastes a little different in London but VERY different in Paris if you’re interested). Sid glared when our waitress put it in front of me and raised the bottle of wine with a meaningful gesture. “Just a couple fingers for me”, MaggieMay said politely. I guess he didn’t know what that meant, but then again, he didn’t know what “Cow-tipping” was either. He filled my glass to the top. We dug into our food and I realized a couple things. First, the food was DELICIOUS. I’ve had dreams about it since. Second, I guess I hadn’t eaten all day! Well, we were rushed and excited about the greet, and then it didn’t look like they were serving food, at least, edible food at The Old Bear. Sid told me to drink up and I was very pleased to discover that the Chilean white went PERFECTLY with the aroma and taste of the hummus and the to-die-for aubergine relish. Yes, perfectly! I was smiling and holding my empty glass, feeling utterly pleased with myself, the dinner, the company and the world at large when it hit me: I was drunk. Sigh Plastered! A wine drunk feels much different than a tequila drunk. With tequila, it’s intense and then it’s over. Not so with Chilean white wine! Oh, no, no, no. Tequila is like a baseball bat, wine is more like sinking into a soft warm bed (exactly where I SHOULD have been). I couldn’t get UNdrunk. We polished off our appetizer and my lamb stew arrived, accompanied by MORE white wine. Ah, the fine people of Chile are to be commended. I certainly was in the mood to commend them! Though I warned my dear companions that I was pretty snookered, they didn’t seem the least bit upset; in fact, I suspect now that if they weren’t there, they were in the neighborhood. I wasn’t entirely unaware. I remembered I was to meet MoodyVal in my hotel bar at 8 and I was determined not to miss her, drunk or not. I got up to leave and Sid pointed sternly at my half-full wine glass. Why I paid ANY attention to him at the time, I don’t know! I drank it and he smiled wickedly, pouring the healthy remains of the SECOND bottle (when did that get here?) into our glasses. Sigh I finished, and made it up the stairs and out of the restaurant while I still could. As I left, someone called “Meet us at The Goat for a drink later?” I replied “Oh, yeah!” while thinking, like hell, buddy. The fresh air on my face only made me realize how truly, completely and utterly plastered I was. Farm girls from Indiana are not SUPPOSED to drink. The wicked Big City had gotten the best of me. I weaved across the street and hurried into the hotel bar. Thinking back, this was probably not the best place for me to be. Sigh I was late due to the second bottle of Chilean white and was worried that I had missed MoodyVal. She had wisely reconsidered meeting me for a drink since she had an early flight home. I sat and waited and felt very, very drunk. I shared that fact with my waiter but he smiled (a lovely Spanish fellow) and said, “oh, no Madame! You are just happy”. Nah! I was drunk as a skunk. I didn’t think my behavior was too bad, but I’ve been reminded by Angel that when she arrived to visit, I was hanging over the balcony railing, loudly greeting her and God only knows who all else as they came into the hotel. (Ed: yeah, yeah, but was your lip numb???) Sigh! It’s a sad, sad story! Angel and Kate stayed and visited with me (wearing odd knowing smiles) and I think they thought I might eventually sober up, but there was no chance of that. Intelligent conversation was entirely out of my reach and I finally went to bed.  My
empty hotel room reminded me of what was missing. Where was Darling
Hubby? Oh, yeah! Paris! I decided to allow him plenty
of time to arrive before the worrying should commence. I had sent
him to Paris in the care of a trustworthy chaperone but feared that his
caretaker’s responsibility for him might end at the Eurostar’s door.
Would he find a taxi? Did he know what hotel we were staying in?
I laid there, drunk, certainly, but at the same time wide awake: unable
to watch tv or read or sleep. At midnight he flew through the door,
brimming over with enthusiasm and excitement from the day’s experiences.
I listened politely, barely able to raise my head from my own treasure
trove of sins, relieved that he was safely home and desperately hoping
he would soon shut up. I don’t know if he ever did! We were
both feeling very satisfied with our day spent in separate countries, apart,
but always connected as old married people are.
MaggieMay Bottle of wine, fruit of the vine When you gonna let me get sober? Leave me alone, let me go home Let me go home and start over. Photos by Maggie and Gabe |
Ipswich |
