A Tale of Two Cocks

[David Wright]

When I alight at Cockfosters, the scene is very different from that of 20 months ago when a deep blanket of snow covered the Piccadilly Line's northernmost outpost.  It's not the balmy late summer's evening we had been anticipating for our nostalgic return to where it all began.  However, the afternoon's torrential rain has eased to a fine drizzle.

 

I find Dave at our favoured table in the Cock and Dragon.  He has thoughtfully picked out a book from the pub's modest library which looks like essential reading for anyone facing imminent parenthood, such as myself.  'Baby-gami' combines the fine arts of origami and baby-swaddling.  Our favourite section, particularly appropriate to EOTLers, demonstrates how to strait-jacket your baby in a large-format map.  I look forward to trying this one out.

 

After a delicious Thai beef curry washed down with some guest ale (London Glory), we retire to the small, sheltered beer garden.  We reminisce about the array of colourful characters we've encountered on our extended travels.  Lord Upminster taught us that age is no barrier to carrying off flamboyant fashions.  Zac, the pig, and his Rotweiller friend, Sisco, made us feel more than welcome in Morden's Prince of Wales.  We learned much from the philosophical musings of Iqbal, our Chesham taxi driver.

 

Shortly after 9pm we finish our pints and head for the tube, for tonight will be a night of two halves.  Our journey will end at the Buffalo Bar in the basement of the Famous Cock at Highbury and Islington.  The bar seems like the perfect place to end our adventure, lying as it does equidistantly between our homes in Kings Cross and Highbury.  It also so happens that a friend from Glasgow is in town and will be on stage with his band at 9.45pm.

 

Before getting on the tube, a young fellow waiting on a bus outside the station kindly agrees to photograph us holding our EOTL flags, one of which will be planted in one of the many plant pots on the platform.

 

Our photographer seems interested in our mission.  'Visiting all the tube stations, are you?' he asks.  Sensing a degree of interest and a potential new recruit, I start to explain.  I am sorely disappointed.  'Gives you something to do, I suppose', he declares and swiftly strides off.

 

We arrive at the Buffalo Bar shortly after 10.  The friendly doorman informs us that Scottish popsters, Schnapps, are just finishing their set.  Whatever happened to the rock star's tradition of keeping the fans waiting?   Regardless, we pay our money and catch the band's final number.

 

After the gig, we catch up with bassist Glenn, who introduces us to singer, Jnr Crawford.  Charming gentlemen, both.

 

With the question of where to display our final EOTL flag hanging over us, we hit upon the perfect solution.  A bit of Blue Tak from the bar manager and our flag is carefully positioned on the wall of posters publicising forthcoming gigs.  It seems that our spiritual home is not to be found in Zone 9 after all, but here in the throbbing epicentre of the big city.

 

Where next for EOTL?  The rock and roll vibe (and possibly the fact that I'd just finished reading Steve Strange's 2002 autobiography, Blitzed) provides the inspiration.  End of the Line - the club night.  Watch this space.