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		February 2001
Taj Mahal Kicked My Chair! There I was, at the Radio 2 Folk Awards, Cumberland Hotel, Marble Arch. I was minding my own business, naturally, when along comes Mr Mahal, having collected the "roots" award from Whispering Bob, and kicks my chair! I hadn't noticed him passing until then. Of course, when someone knocks into your chair you look round. "Excuse me," he said in his leather pill box hat. Charming chap. So, there's another lesson I've learned from a hero of rock godliness which no doubt will hold me in good stead. When next I'm at some glittering occasion and I go up to receive an award for my services to folk music, I'll take my shades off. Of course, the day of the awards coincided with the tube strike. Tube strikes are usually a lot of fuss about nothing. I remember when I lived in Shepherds Bush, there was a tube strike during the 1986 World Cup. I was standing at Tottenham Court Road wondering whether I should risk missing the kick off of England v Peru. Anyway, I decided to chance it and got home in twenty minutes. Saw the whole game, the one where Lineker and Beardsley did the business. Tube strikes mean nothing to me. So when I arrived at Liverpool Street on my way to the awards I was more than surprised to find that the tubes were indeed on strike and the underground shut. Of course, the bus queues stretched as far as the Ukraine and there wasn't a yellow light on a cab for six miles. So I walked to Marble Arch! Steady pace, took an hour and a quarter. Walked into the foyer, had a large fag and a capuccino.		But what a glittering occasion it was. Everyone looking glamourous and in their finery. Lots of suits. Chris While and Julie Matthews looked like a million dollars and six pence. The Folk Awards is like the Motor Show with beards. I sat next to a journalist from a well-known music magazine who, like me, had come in from out of town. Well, we had a marvellously convivial evening apart from me asking someone across the table who I think worked for the beeb if Radio 2 played folk music. At 11.15 pm the show was officially in the can although nobody seemed in any hurry to move. Met Linda Thompson at the hat check but we were the only ones there. The rest were in for a long night but I had to get back to Liverpool Street for the last train. I asked the music journalist if he was heading back to the station. He said he'd just have one more drink. I left. Tried to ring him the next day. Finally caught up in the afternoon. He said he was on a bus on his way to the office. I asked him if he'd had a good night. He said 'Don't Dave.' He reckoned he'd probably had one drink too many and ended up telling everyone in the Cumberland Hotel he loved them. Missed his train too, got home at six in the morning. Some good performances all round I'd say but the highlight for me was the impromptu. The Mike McGoldrick Band, featuring Sharon Shannon, were announced by Mike Harding whilst all but the double bass player were elsewhere engaged. After a moment's silence, Mike Harding started his trademark tribute to Phil Harris and did his 'Jungle Book' scat which the bass player, standing alone on stage, was quick to pick up. It was like Tom Waits with NHS specs. Good on you Mike. Now let's hear more of this folk music on the show! David Hughes, Folkcorp News, Marble Arch