Birmingham

Janine and I had arrived in Brum to the staccato sound of rain pelting down over the city centre. Being slim enough to skip between the raindrops we managed to reach the tourist information kiosk almost completely undampened by either the rain or poor spirits.

Dave Burrows had, as is his usual useful wont, recommended a hotel for the Ballfesters to use for our one night stay. The Hotel Ibis on Lady Well Walk. Any hotel in the vicinity of a road bearing the word 'Lady' is clearly a hotel suitable for my custom. However, no matter how suitable, we didn't know where Lady Well Walk was to be found, hence the skip to the Information Kiosk.

We picked up our bags along with my drooping spirit. I knew we were already lost. We followed a couple of turns in the road - Janine reading the highlighted map each step of the way. She looked like a Thunderbird puppet as her head bobbed from side to side as she tried to read all the street signs we passed.

I shrugged, I knew we were completely lost and no amount of map reading was going to help us out - there's no use trying to use a map to find one's way if one doesn't know where one is in the first place.

We retraced out steps trying to find a street that was even marked on the map. All the names I could see, No Entry, No Through Road, No Parking, were not to be read anywhere on the street map. (Do you think that 'No' in Birminghamese fulfils the same function as 'El' in Spanish or 'Le' in French?)

We tried another street. Dead end. Another one - construction site. In desperation we stopped the best looking man in the street and asked for help. He looked at the map, looked around him.

He then stood by a ramp, pointing and gesticulating and chatting away in what could only be Birminghamese. We thanked him politely - walked round a corner and stood leaning against a wall, crying with laughter.

We went and sat patiently in reception. I would say that we sat decorously but Sue and Bernie spotted us immediately and it could have been my raucous laugh which gave away our location. Or the fact that my description of tall, slim and blonde is nearer to the truth than I have let myself believe.

Sue was not dampened by rain or poor spirits but by the bottle of wine she'd just smashed on the pavement outside the hotel. Oh, bliss. Oh, joy. It wasn't me that had made a spectacular smashing entrance but Sue. She'd turned her ankle on the kerb and had fallen onto the floor smashing her wine. We pointed out that she should have saved the wine even at the cost of a broken arm - we have our priorities right. After vainly trying to save some of the alcohol by wringing out Sue's coat sleeve, we contented ourselves with taking it in turns to have a suck on the cuff just in case we got enough to imbibe enough to get merry.

You would have been proud of me. I was so organized that I'd even made signs to hold up on the platforms so that Susan and Ros would spot us immediately. Susan's read SUSAN MAY MICHAEL BALL FAN and Ros's read ROS DAVIS MICHAEL BALL FAN (I figured it was no use putting the same name on both - clever. What?)

I knew the time both trains were arriving and only needed to go to the information desk to enquire as to which platform. I gave both arrival times and we made a note of the platform numbers - 12a and 12b. Sue and Bernie took the Ros sign, Janine and me the Susan sign, and we even had the sense to work out that in that case Sue and Bernie should go meet Ros, and Janine and I meet Susan. Wow - am I getting sensible - or wot?

12a and 12b were opposite each other so the four of us could stand and wave to each other. Bernie soon became bored of that game so Janine and I looked around. There was a train standing higher up the platform. The destination - Nottingham. We looked around - no Susan. Two Virgin reps were hanging around doing nothing.

Information duly confirmed that 7b was the correct platform. We ran along the station concourse. Took the stairs down two at a time. Hitting the platform at high speed we looked for Susan. No-one there. We dashed back up the stairs looking for someone with long blonde hair and a fat, rounded face (Susan's own description). We could see no-one matching it.

Janine suddenly had the bright idea of waving the sign around in the face of everyone who looked vaguely female. Susan spotted her. Susan does not have a fat, round face. So it was hugs all round. You should have felt the tension in Susan - hugging her was like hugging a tightly wound giant clock spring. Ros, Sue and Bernie showed up and we had another major hug fest. I swear my arms have grown over the last couple of days.

Well, fortune was smiling on us and we made it back to the hotel without incident. Finally sorting out yet another reception mix up we all went to our rooms to settle in and then to meet for a meal. What a meal. The food was lousy, the service slow, but we were in a dry warm room and we had so much to talk about that we didn't care that much about the food. Susan was so strung up that she couldn't even taste her food. I kept expecting her to explode and run out of the restaurant screaming for Michael.

Time came for us to make our way back to the hotel to get changed. It was getting toward the time when we had arranged to meet Dave for a pre-show drink. PRE-SHOW, WHOOPEE!

Arriving at Edwards Bar we found Dave, Linda B and her mother waiting. Shortly after Gill and Co arrived. It was great to be able to put faces to the names I'd become so familiar with, I wanted to get up and hug everyone but I desisted. Not everyone is as tactile as wot I am and I didn't want to frighten everyone off before we'd had a chance to chat. Linda received a quick hug - she's become pretty special to me.

We went in and after an abortive attempt to queue for the loo, and after infuriating a man by threatening to use the gents as they weren't queuing - we went into the hall and sat down to wait for Michael to appear.

The BBC Big Band trailed on to the platform to an underwhelming burst of applause. After their number the female MC trotted on to the stage. Now, I don't wish to be cruel, or dismissive, of any sister but -WHERE IN HELL DID SHE GET HER OUTFIT? She looked like Toad of Toad Hall. I kid you not. The other Ballfesters will confirm.

Anyway. Miss Toad MC extraordinaire introduced the legendary (and this man really is legendary) Michel What-his-name-? If you are into modern jazz and, most of the audience were, then this man and his music would have put you on a high; if a jam session is your idea of heaven, then you'd have been in seven of 'em. This man is a musical genius - a maestro of the first order. Unfortunately, we don't dig that crazy beat, not when it goes on and on and on and on.

But we are Michael Ball fans. We are nothing if not polite. So we clapped in the appropriate places, after every brilliant but interminable solo, after every incomprehensible impromptu improvisation. We even managed to echo the "Yea Man" and "Yo" that the jazz aficionados called out with an increasing frequency.

We checked our watches, discretely though - we know our manners. Would this genius never shut up and let Michael on? The Interval. We spent the interval trying to meet with fans that we didn't yet know but the loo queues were as long and it didn't seem right to knock on cubicle doors shouting: "Hey, I'm Jinty. Should I know you?"

The second half began. Still no Michael. I could see Susan May a few rows in front of me. Her whole body was screaming silently for Michael, but Michel continued his brilliant performance. I think he was playing The Windmills of Your Mind but the musical thread had become so convoluted that I wasn't too sure what the hell it was. He began another tune and we saw the curtain begin to twitch. It twitched for endless minutes (about two), then flicked aside and Michael bounded on.

What can I say. I know that others will tell you what he was wearing, what he sang, whether he was fatter, slimmer, fitter, so I won't duplicate their writing. I can only say I was blown away by the magic of his voice. MICHAEL WAS ON SONG. Of all the tracks I've ever heard him sing, nothing compared to him on Tuesday night. The range of his voice, his ability to sustain a note for so long that I thought his lungs would burst, the clarity, the pitch, the brilliance. I am lost for words (and that takes some doing). EVEN HIS PHRASING WAS PERFECT. I take back any snitty remark I've ever made about Michael's voice. I've heard so many fantastic singers but not one that could approach Michael that night. I sat in my seat when I really wanted to stand on it shouting: "Way to go Michael. Yeah Man. YOOOOOOOOOOO"

I could not believe that this was Michael Ball. He was happy and relaxed and this clearly showed in the elasticity of voice. This man was mellow. Yeah Man. Way to go. Yo

As you can imagine the post show high did not dissipate at all. We went back to the hotel, stopping to take photographs by some cold fountain - I didn't fall in. We said our thanks and goodbyes to Dave and went in and settled down to a jolly good post-mortem about the concert. Boy, was Susan happy. WE WERE ALL HAPPY.

Pat was staying at the same hotel and joined us for a gossip fest. We were there until after 2am and most of us only went to bed because we thought we ought to - not because we wanted to. We didn't want the magic of the night to ever end.

But magic does end. Nothing lasts forever not even post-show highs. But ours lasted until the next morning when we all had to say goodbye. Sue and Bernie were the first to leave the group. We all stood on the pavement not wanting the moment to end. We knew that once our group began to split up then it would be the beginning of the flat season. We wanted to stay high enough to hurdle through life. Sue and Bernie went. We carried on to the station. Ros was the next to go. More hugs. More silly laughing - we all wanted to cry. We wrote WE LOVE MICHAEL XXX on the dusty train window to make Ros laugh. The guard came to look at it and added a smiley face. Bless the man who ever he was.

Then it was Janine's and my turn to catch a train. Susan came down to the platform. Our train was in. Susan and I just cried. Neither of us wanted the Michael Moment to end. But all things end. I gave Susan a hankie and shoved her towards the stair - had she stayed I think that we would both have still been sitting sadly on the platform.

My first Ballfest has been such a great experience. The six of us, then Pat and friend, just gelled. We laughed at the same things. We sighed at the same things. Bernie made us all laugh - his puns are atrocious. I feel that we have become such firm friends. How are we going to last until the next Ballfest?

There is so much still to write about the Brum Ballfest but I thought that maybe Susan or Sue might like to cover the moments I've missed. LIKE SUSAN TELLING ME I'M MORE SOPHISTICATED THAN SHE THOUGHT I'D BE. Way to go, Susan. More!