All the while, I’ve been staring unconsciously at a parked motorcycle and sidecar covered with stickers and miniature flags. For some moments, I have also been vaguely aware of loudening footsteps on the track behind me, but my tranquil mood protects me from any fear. Even though the man has drawn close and is now scrutinizing me, I continue to remain perfectly calm, despite his massive frame and strange appearance. This bear of a man is wrapped in a brightly coloured patchwork quilt covered in political badges. On his head perches a fake, white turban from which long tufts of blond hair protrude. By his side, propped up on the wall is a double bass: an appropriate instrument for a giant. I muse philosophically that I might also have been wearing a turban, had Brenda not tactfully removed it as I was leaving the house. He offers his hand.

A muscular, craggy faced regular in paint-spattered overalls, perhaps in his mid-twenties, sits three stools away from me. Apart from one suggestive remark to Betty, the barmaid, (a bespectacled and even less glamorous version of the tarty woman from Abigail’s Party), he spends the rest of his time glaring into his personal metal jug. Looking as though he hasn’t been approached in days, this gruff individual gives off the impression that he would head butt the first stranger daring to disturb his privacy.

To the right of the pinball machine, two young men are playing darts. The younger player, a nattily dressed lad with brown hair covering his ears, approaches the bar clutching two empties. I down the dregs of my bitter rather too quickly and move towards him just as Betty is taking the lad’s beer glasses. He orders two more of the same and glances at me over his left shoulder.

‘How do.’ I ‘how do’ back, echoing his chirpy tone but girding my loins for a second trite conversation. He briefly looks me up and down. ‘Not from around here, then.’

A willowy young woman in a fluffy, hand-embroidered afghan coat makes her way to the front row and noisily settles herself into the seat in front of me as though she were arranging a nest. I am now staring into a thick, tightly curled crop of jet-black hair. Fastened to this joke afro-wig is a collection of wooden clothes pegs. My vision is now totally blocked.

Behind a large cluttered desk sits Uncle Ken. He looks much the same as I remember, except for black-rimmed National Health glasses that perch halfway down his nose and an old food-stained sports jacket. He is a stout man, but it’s not all flab; he can probably handle himself when the occasion arises. An ashtray is crammed with dog-ends and I can smell whiskey and the remains of a bacon sandwich.

I’m surprised to discover that the bar is now packed, and the clock above the fireplace is reading ten to midnight. Ken has pulled away from Brenda and is heading unsteadily towards Luke’s taunts. Meanwhile, Brenda, a little unsteady on her feet, is about to join us. Strands of hair hang down her face, and her lipstick is smudged.

Brenda’s standing a little too close to me and I’m feeling slightly aroused. Darren asks her if James is really outside with Luke, but she playfully pushes his shoulder and continues to focus on me. I enjoy the smell of Brandy on her breath, as her thumb and forefinger gently press my upper arm.

‘Will you please stop calling me Carpenter! My name is David. Carpenter’s my surname, for God’s sake.’ Silence.

The piano has made way for a double bass that seems to gurgle up from beneath the ocean. Jade’s hands delve into the intertwined scarves. She slides out her soprano saxophone, puts it to her lips and holds a low, sustained note. Magically, the low note gives birth to a second, high note. Two notes seem to be sounding at once. Then the high note breaks free and takes on a life of its own. As it skips to and fro, transforming into subtler shapes, I catch myself smiling my own smile as I become aware of my body. Her solo unfolds, evolves to its climax and finally merges with the record. Now, just silence but for the repetitive needle click.

On a damp Monday evening, while most folks were having their tea, a strange, beautiful youth from Huddersfield did one of two things on BBC1: he either made a complete fool of himself or performed a miracle that we could all achieve ourselves