So I'm buzzing along on the Zip 50 when I feel my mobile vibrate in my pocket. Expecting some shop-related emergency I pull over at the side of the road and dig my trusty Nokia brick (with torch!) from somewhere beneath the layers of waterproof padded armour I am swaddled in. It's a message from my cousin Sam letting me know that the Sam Crockatt Quartet are launching their debut ablum this evening somewhere in Dalston.
The album is called Howeird and is probably a work of genius. No I mean really. I have heard Sam play several times over the years and he is just better every time.
Then who should appear as first customer of the day but my uncle Ian. He's also a creative chap. (He's a poet and has published several collections with good poetry publishers such as Peterloo Poets.) Ian lives on a croft in the far north of Scotland. He was down south for a couple of days, meeting a publisher who are dealing with his latest project - translations of Rilke no less!
There are a lot of Crockatts.
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