managed to trace that the name of the DJ was Malcolm Pullar, and we wrote to his widowed wife Cheryl, to let her know that we had put the records to good use.

When the last night came round something very strange happened to me. I got off the 55 bus on Oxford Street and sitting right in the middle of the pavement in the middle of Oxford Street rush hour was of pair of old boots, bolt upright, exactly the same as the ones we had used on our flyer. This was a sign. It was meant to happen. I picked up the boots and hung them outside the venue. It was an exciting, but sad moment. I played the final 20 records or so and did a short speech
thanking everyone

involved and presented a giant cheque to HTA (home made of course, in the pub next door beforehand) for £1400. We all had a quick dance to 'The Clapping Song' and then the venue filled up between 9 - 11pm.


Surprisingly we had no takers for open decks (I think that the 'vinyl-only' might have been a factor) but