An old army buddy of mine – Roger (pictured in the middle) - organises the orchestra for the choral society at West Ham Church. This collection of enthusiastic amateurs have been expertly tutored by John (the church organist) and they hold regular concerts of famous choral works for the local populace. Over the years they have gained a just reputation for putting on a damned good show.

In this they are aided and accompanied by an orchestra made up of some of the top orchestral players that London has to offer. Knowing that the latest concert would feature Verdi’s dramatic requiem, (which requires a large orchestra, including three flutes), I blagged Roger until he finally relented and agreed to let me play.

As young men, Roger and I had both been musicians in the Army, but whereas he had always kept up with this Cello playing, I had (with less time and opportunity on the farm) rather let my flute playing go.

Anyway, having secured a spot as second flute, I purchased a CD and a score, dusted down my trusty instrument and set to practicing again on a daily basis. Over the weeks the old technique and embouchure (proper use of the face/mouth muscles) began (thankfully) to return. The next step was to procure myself a set of tails and a white tie. ‘Thank the lord for eBay’ is a standing joke in our household and sure enough £53 was enough to secure me a set of vintage 1930’s tails and I had just enough left from my £80 fee for the gig to buy a white dickey bow and black cummerbund.

Saturday was the big day, and having dropped off the kids with my sister in Camberley and had a very pleasant reunion with another couple of old bandsmen over a curry in Windsor the night before, we made our way across London for the rehearsal in the church at 2pm.

Over a pint, John told us about the effect that the 2012 Olympics was having over the area. His house had nearly doubled in value, nine out of the ten local petrol stations had closed and were making way for flats, and even the pub we were drinking in had sold off half of its beer garden to developers. Most notably, he said, one of the local kebab houses had been turned into a trendy sandwich bar with – shock horror – tables on the pavement. Where will it all end? His best guess was that as the money moved in the indigenous folk would probably pushed out to Dagenham.

But I digress, and at the rehearsal I was understandably a little nervous to be playing in such illustrious company. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried too much; our first flute – Jane (a lovely lady and a true professional) – barely missed a beat on learning that her deputy on this occasion was a sheep farmer by trade.

My weeks of practice held me in good stead, and that evening the soloists, orchestra and choir came together to deliver a sublime performance to over 400 eastenders (and one Cornish nurse) that I'm sure will be talked about for many years to come. For myself it was a once-in-a-lifetime evening that I shall never forget.

Just back from a half term break in glorious Yorkshire. Having endured first Butlins and then a narrowboat over the last two years, it was a pleasant change this time to be staying in a luxury converted barn in the Dales.

Whenever we go on our travels, the first thing I always pack is my trusty copy of Julian Cope’s The Modern Antiquarian. Famed in the late seventies and early eighties as the singer/songwriter behind the Liverpuddlian post-punk band The Teardrop Explodes, he has spent much of life exploring the Neolithic monuments of Britain and Europe. His book is an invaluable guide to anyone interested in stone circles and megaliths and there is always a collected groan from the rest of the family when I get it out to plan a trip to “not another boring stone Dad!”

Imagine my delight when I find our cottages are named after and adjacent to Brimham Rocks which are featured on page 266 of Mr Cope’s gazetteer. The area covers about 50 acres and contains huge gritstone outcrops which have been weathered and eroded into fantastic shapes and juxtapositions which look like the sculptures of the Gods. “Brimful of magic” exudes Mr Cope, and he goes on to speculate how they must have amazed our Bronze-age cousins - just as they continued to amaze us on the Sunday.

Monday and we visited Fountain Abbey (also on our doorstep) and explored the ruins and grounds. Founded by a dozen monks nearly a thousand years ago, Fountain Abbey rapidly grew to become the richest monastery in Europe and this was reflected in the sheer size and grandeur of the remnants. Now owned by the National Trust there is also a minor stately home, a mill and an extraordinary water garden to discover.

Tuesday saw us tramping over Malham Cove and Gordale Scar (both equally spectacular – see photo) on a three hour yomp through the high country, with the limestone pavement beneath our feet and acres of clear blue sky above, there was nothing to disturb the peace bar the constant whine of “are we nearly there yet?”

Wednesday saw us at Castle Howard - as an ardent fan of Brideshead Revisited this was a long held ambition of mine,. It was interesting to note that there were no references to the landmark TV series in any of their marketing or in their gift shop – however I for one was unable to walk around these oh so familiar grounds without a chorus of strings playing dum da de dum in my head!

All in all, a great way to take a break from the toils of life. However, when asked for the high spot of the holidays, the kids were unanimous in their vote for the hot tub outside the cottages. Which just goes to show; you can take the kids out of Butlins – but you cant take the Butlins out of the kids!