I wipe the sweat from my forehead, shift nervously in my seat and grip my guitar case even harder. The Campbells have finished their spot. I know I am about to be introduced but I don’t know if my legs will let me walk to the microphones in front of the audience packing the folk club. Ian Campbell cracks a joke with the fiddler as the rest of the group make for the bar, then he turns to face us.
"A young man phoned me last night and asked if he could sing a couple of songs he’s written. I auditioned him this evening, and he passed."
The audience laugh.
"So let’s welcome a newcomer to the club... Harvey Andrews."
There is polite applause as I stand and make my way forward. I unzip the canvas case and take out my nylon strung Spanish guitar. I am shaking with nervousness. Ian adjusts the microphone for my instrument and raises the one for my voice. Then he walks away and I am alone in the spotlight. My mouth is as dry as a desert. I don’t want to see anyone so I close my eyes. My fingers find the first chord and I sing the first line of my song.
And I keep on singing and suddenly a lifetime has passed.