Portmeirion was special, as we all hoped it would be. It’s a magical place, the Village. Mediterranean-style cottages in Mediterranean colours. They appear authentic, but it’s all an illusion. Even the damp look on the plaster is deliberately wiped on with a darker shade of paint applied to the lower parts of the walls, ageing the buildings and adding character. The town hall ceiling is magnificent. It’s a masterpiece of stucco and plaster-work. But Sir Clough reclaimed it. It came from another place, and he somehow got his craftsmen to re-establish it in the north-west of Wales, in his own village. All that stood there originally was the main house, looking at the river. There’s an element of illusion even about that building; it was burnt to the ground in 1981, two years after my own first visit, and re-built mostly in its own image.

The hall is tiny. 130 seats were eventually squeezed in, and a few extra tickets sold. The front row was very, very close to my feet. And the place hummed and buzzed. The Chloe Hall trio, from Australia, won over strangers, and Show Of hands (my old friends Steve Knightley and Phil Beer, with a female double-bassist these days) sounded brilliant from where I was listening back-stage. It all ran late, it always does when there’s more than two acts.....but there was no curfew, and even though we played until something like 11.30, I didn’t see anyone rushing away to relieve the baby- sitter. It was liberating in a way to play an acoustic set again. It’s been a long time since we appeared without the full band. Barry and James played some beautiful lines, with great expression and depth. They are both sympathetic towards the words and that is essential in an accompanist. I tell them, let the song do the work; we just help it along, give it rhythm and energy. There are immensely varied dynamics in an acoustic set. I love the dynamics. Sometimes I can feel the audience’s breath. Started the set with Star For A Week (Dino), because it’s a true folk song. Seemed appropriate. I wrote it from a true story and that’s folk. The November dates will be steaming. Acoustic yes, but we’ll rock, too.

The Alzheimer’s Research charity will benefit from the Portmeirion takings. It wasn’t a cheap ticket, I know, but the box-office total will be going to a very important cause. Jane and Tim Quinn, who organised the event, did a really good job, pulling together lots of disparate elements. I’ll work with them again one day: fabulous people with an enviably generous outlook on life. Jane has been poorly for some time, and couldn’t get to the show. But I know a tough nut, a fighter, when I meet one, and she’ll be ok.

Andy and Clare from Aberystwyth brought a gift of wine and Jo sent another Kingston Black Apple Aperitif – some drink, that! I spotted Peter J-H, and also Alexa, when I got a chance to focus on the room. Met several other fans during our (Mrs Harley came too) three days in the village. Nige from the north was visiting with his wife and mum, staying in the main hotel. Big fans who have seen me play many times, but it was all a coincidence this time. They were there for a special occasion, and my visit there to play was news that came as a shock when they checked-in. How strange is that? And Barry Burford was there, my friend from the age of three. Imagine that.....we spent a year in hospital together as young kiddies, and 57 years further down the line we’re still in touch. We were out of touch for many years, but Portmeirion brought us back together. Sweet. And typical of the magic the place exudes.

Thought of Marc B while I was there, of course. But the thought made me smile - thinking of him always does, and being with him always did. Thinking of the Village in future will also make me smile. Magical. All the players and the organisers felt it. I hope the 130 souls that crammed into that beautiful little hall got the same feelings.