Back in February, myself and Anna, a fellow London exile now in Glasgow, met up at one of our old haunts and sang together at Sharp’s folk club for the first time.

This time, we met at Morris Folk Club at another former hangout, The Betsey Trotwood in Farringdon, opposite The Guardian’s former headquarters before they made the move to the antiseptic environs of King’s Place.

Fifteen years ago, a previous version of myself put on indie discos here, with names like Come Out 2Nite and If You Tolerate Bis, Kenickie Will Be Next. The latter featured quotes from Manda Rin (“nice!”) and Lauren Laverne (“sounds like a laugh!”) on the poster.

I remember the upstairs room well. People danced so hard that the records bounced and the floor shook, and we were exiled to the cellar bar below for our following club nights. [1]

To add to the time-mangling, Morris Folk Club is hosted by my old friend and one time proto band mate James Eagle, now editor of Folk London magazine, singer, and recording artist.

Morris Folk is an exceptionally welcoming, friendly, and inclusive space. Along with nights like Peckham’s Folk of the Round Table, Morris is part of a movement that is multi-generational, queer, and unashamedly political – exactly as a modern folk should be.

Anna had her tenor recorder, and after some bus related lateness on my part we retreated to the little downstairs alcove for a quick run through of the two Highchurches tunes we’d planned to perform together.

These were the same two that we did in February: Doggerland, with Anna on recorder and backing vocals; and Harvest Moon, with Anna this time contributing shaky egg and some lovely harmonies on the outro. “Sometimes it’s not too late”, indeed.

The room has beautiful acoustics, and the crowd on this Tuesday night were extremely kind and attentive. After some initial nerves, I’ve never felt more comfortable singing on stage.

In the second half, Anna borrowed my ukulele for a performance of Scottish folk lullaby Coorie Doon, and I gave the audience a choice of a cheery song or a depressing song. They went for depressing, as any good folk club crowd should, and so I finished with Even Keel, gazing intently at Anna for the “my friend” lyrics in a way that hopefully wasn’t too disturbing.

All the acts were excellent, and a big shout out to Morris Folk for how quickly and easily they taught parts to the audience, and divided us into parts for a couple of particularly joyous rounds.

I’ll definitely be back.

[1] Raz, the venue’s promoter, was at the bar, and remembered me. He asked if I’d be interested in putting on Saturday daytime indie discos in future…