On Wednesday afternoon, I made my way to Brighton and Laz’s place, to give me plenty of time to have a shower and get ready. We walked to the Concorde 2, knowing we had plenty of time to get there, and shared a Guinness and black while the support act was on.

When we made our way into the main room, Laz showed me where the backstage area was, and there was Seth, but he was just about to go on stage and we didn’t want to disturb him (and besides, there were a couple of security guys there – one of them said he would make sure my ‘gift’ reached Seth, but I said no thanks, I’d rather give it to him myself afterwards). The set began with a couple of tracks from his new (and almost sold out) limited edition album, Tales From The Barrel House and then he interspersed this with more familiar tracks, such as The Hurlers, Ye Mariners All and Setting of the Sun. At one point, the band disappeared from the stage, leaving Seth alone with his violin, and as soon as he hit the first note, everyone knew what was happening and started going bananas: it was Kitty Jay, the song that he had recorded in his kitchen and which the folkie press went nuts over, shooting him to fame. It was a sweaty gig, but also included my favourite from the new album, called Salt From Our Veins, which he introduced by saying, considering we’re by the seaside… which instantly told me what the song was about (viz, you can take the girl away from the sea but you can’t take the sea away from the girl). That was a nice surprise. He ended with two hoedowns: Blood Upon Copper, which, unlike the album recording, speeds up halfway through and the crowd invariably goes berserk, and ending with Race To Be King, a song about whaling – controversial subject matter but which makes for great songs, and this one is a bouncy, dancey number that makes everyone totally rock out.

Afterwards, there was a long queue of people (mainly young women) to meet him, and I’d taken my copy of the new CD and his live DVD for him to sign. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and then I said that, just like last time I’d met him, I’d brought cake! He said he ate the last one and that it was really good, so I introduced the maker of said cake, which meant Laz had to come out from the shadows as Seth was holding out a ‘great cake, man!’ hand for him to shake. It was lovely to see him again and I look forward to next time.

Yesterday, I finally did my part for the Claremont Project charity fundraising thing. I did the suang yang class as normal (just as well, as it meant I was reasonably warmed up afterwards) and during the kung fu class, I earned my sponsor money by doing 13 laps of duck walk (500 m), 250 leg lifts, a minute of iron bridge (man, that hurt, I had to draw upon anger to get me through it, and Dave and Kerry’s son Alexander did it with me), 1000 punches and 333 upper crane blocks. Lise and Kerry took photos, some of which are below, and Dave taunted me all the way through by saying no photos until I was sweating, and I wasn’t doing it fast enough (all par for the course). So, I’ve now earned my sponsor money and will be collecting it over the next couple of weeks.

That evening, we went to bed early (for us), as the next day was going to be full. I’d arranged to meet a couple of the girls in one of the West End pubs before going to the restaurant (Joy King Lau in Leicester Square), and I’d been an idiot and left my shampoo at home, so we made a trip into town first to go to Lush to get one of their handy (and very sexy-smelling) Godiva shampoo bars. Then we made our way into central London, failed spectacularly to meet Sharmin and Eleanor beforehand and took the wrong street for the restaurant (I always do that). Once there, however, we found somewhere to sit and a little while later, one of the instructors was giving away kit bags with the FWC logo printed on them (really nifty – we adults had been waiting for them since the kids got green ones). Laz and I had saved a place for Sharmin, but she ended up sitting on the floor below (another epic fail). Once more, we had taken over the entire three floors of Joy King Lau. But someone from another club arrived late, so he took that place instead. At the next table were Eleanor, Sheila and a few more of our guys, so we were able to talk a bit, which was nice, and Sheila gave me a hug for not going back to being veggie. (It’s quite a thing in FWC, as diet for training is of the highest priority.) This was my first event at Joy King Lau since no longer being a vegetarian, so I was eager to try the food, even though I knew it would be great but that one of the starters was lobster. At first I felt a bit squeamish, and I’ve always thought they were dropped alive into boiling water, but apparently that isn’t the case, so I felt slightly less bad about it. And Laz and I discovered together that lobster tastes great. The dishes kept coming and the only thing I didn’t like was the flat fish – it tasted like sea water. Nothing to do with the cooking, just a matter of taste. But the rest of it was practically orgasmic.

The instructors’ speeches at the end were as entertaining as always, with Karim telling weird stories about things that have happened in class, at competitions or at similar events, making everyone laugh when he told a story about another instructor (Carlo) popping his own shoulder when he threw a hard punch and still insisting he could continue to fight. After Tim had read out an email that Dave had received and passed on, from a ‘fellow martial artist’ who suggested a ‘tough’ exercise for students at the end of class (10 press ups, then 10 sit ups, then 9 of each, then 8, etc, down to one, to which Dave’s forwarded response was ‘Hehehehehe! Wimps!’), he read his obligatory poem, illustrating perfectly why the email was so hilarious (anyone who has experienced Dave’s death aerobics will certainly agree that 55 of each in total is truly NOTHING) and then Dennis stood up again for a final speech before we all filed out. A few of us went to the Slug and Lettuce, and by then my feet were aching, as I’d worn a pair of my mum’s heeled court shoes for the occasion (having the same size feet can be a distinct advantage when you’re a size 3) and a nice gent vacated the table so a few of us could sit (‘I could see your feet were killing you,’ he said). Shortly after nine, Laz and I decided to leave (after being regaled with Dolan’s bus story, which I shan’t relate here for reasons of decorum), and we were back at his parents’ place a little after ten. After the chaos of the West End on a Saturday night, the peace of hardly any people, and then the utter peace of being just the pair of us, was pretty much bliss.

I came back home yesterday (Maureen Lipman sat opposite me on the train on her way to Chichester), and Laz stayed on to meet his parents as they came back from holiday. The weird thing about weekends like that is that afterwards, the comedown can be profound and boredom sets in very quickly (whether or not I have loads to do). But I won’t have time to be bored for long, as I have work coming tomorrow and we’re going to see Seth Lakeman on Wednesday (yip-yip!). I’ll write about that here afterwards.

What’s wrong with this picture? You see, Chichester is also the top of the list of cities in this area with second homes. Pricing locals out and meaning the local economy suffers (which has been evident to locals for years as shops close and old world places are killed off – take a look at the Butter Market now – ugh… And it used to be one of the sweetest things about the place), Chichester is in danger of losing its soul.

It’s always been a nice place to walk around in. Little lanes, gardens, decent pubs – something else which have suffered numerous casualties in recent years – sitting on the green outside the cathedral (where my friends and I would sit for lunch when we were at college)… Thankfully there’s still a traditional bookshop in South Street (the one in Southgate is long gone, however), though when I go to the library to work, more often than not there’s nowhere for me to sit, so I gave up long ago, which is a shame.

The irony of it is that one of the best things about Chichester is its theatre, and it’s also one of the things that brings in the moneyed people, because it has a reputation for being high-brow (Laz will understand why I find this so cringe-worthy), with famous actors often playing there as well as some decent folk bands (Capercaillie have played there in the past, for instance). The staff at the theatre, well some of them anyway, have a lah-di-dah attitude of their own, to which I can personally attest, but I don’t let that stop me from going to events there when I want to. I just don’t let it bother me, because in spite of not being moneyed, I am local, and that means a lot to me. I’m not going to turn my back on the place I was born, even if its house prices make it turn its back on me.

Thursday night was the TGIO (Thank God It’s Over) party for the Brighton NaNoWriMo region, and I was already feeling off-colour because I had been coughing for the past two days, but I stuck it out (ordering chips, then finding out the chef wasn’t happy with them and he gave us our money back – yay) and then Laz and I walked back to his place. We managed not to get too wet, which was good, but my Converse were already soaked from walking to the pub, so the first thing I did was take them off, take my socks off and… well, I got into my snuggly purple dressing gown.

Throughout the month, I also had proofreading work to do, which made things tougher, and also training. I was persuaded (‘roped in’) to take part in the club fundraising event, to raise money for the local elderly in Islington (I’d grabbed Simon at the party and charmed him into sponsoring me). I hadn’t done it before and I wanted to, so I gave in. I got a few people to sponsor me, but when it came to the crunch (today), I couldn’t go. I’m still coughing, which has pretty much incapacitated me and I had no wish to spread it by coughing over everyone (I’m still coughing as I write this). However, I’ll be doing the stuff that people did today – at the back of the room in class – so although I wasn’t able to be there with everyone (and Kristina, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your birthday), I will still do it, not only because people have sponsored me to be in pain for a couple of hours but because it matters. The elderly of Islington are helped by the Claremont Project. Lives are saved by these wonderful people, and since the government cut funding, FWC Kung Fu Club has been helping them by raising money each year. Last year, the club raised more than £6,000, so my little contribution seems feeble, but it all adds up. As Dave said in class on Wednesday, a few quid can and does make a huge difference to people’s lives, and as a kung fu club with honour, knowing the meaning of filial piety, we do what we can to help.

So now it’s December again. It’s been a full year since a-ha split. A lot has happened to me in that time. A lot. Not all of it has been comfortable, but it’s all been positive, and I’m looking forward to seeing in 2012 a far happier person than I was a year ago.