There have been a number of changes since my last visit to the Village Pub. I understand that life must move on and as the social fabric of rural Norfolk changes, the licensed trade must move with the times.
Hawkwind Sid has been allowed to organise a trial evening of musical entertainment, during which it is rumoured there will be a "special geust", according to the Parish Magazine, whose editor Veronica, the Vicar's wife, has still not mastered the use of spell-check.
A number of retired rock stars live in these parts, some of whom Sid - who once jammed with Hawkwind - claims to be on nodding terms with.
Neil By The Way, who is now the Village Pub's bar manager, is discussing the finer details of said *soiree* with said ex-hippy as I walk in.
"So, um, yeah Neil," he says. "He's a busy dude man, but he's, um, said he'll definitely turn up and like, um, play the drums if he does, like, um, turn up. Um, like, Hi Chris. You, like, um, coming to my rock night..?"
I, um, think I might be otherwise engaged, I reply as Neil By The Way slaps a Shuck and a Jack chaser on the bar.
"It's like, um, next Friday. It's a fiver to get in - but we've got, like, a special guest," says Sid. "He was like, um, bigger than Deep Purple when, um, like, they were really big, during, like, their really big period. And we're, um, like doing food too."
"We've got a Black Sabbath tribute band playing in the Beer Garden," adds Neil By The Way, by way of clarification, as I hand over a tenner and take a long sip on my Shuck, noting how the initial bitterness gives way to the complex blend of flavours associated with said ale.
"It's gonna be rockin' - they're gonna play all the hits. We've got an eat all you like buffet and the Vicar's mate who used to play the drums is coming."
Lemmy, Sid's dog, takes a lengthy wee against the end of the bar. The yellow puddle flows menacingly towards my new brogues. For some reason I can't quite put my finger on, I don't fancy food.