Foster is sporting what looks like an original 1970s safari jacket, Stanley is rocking a green fur-collared anorak, zipped right up to look like a moss fabric periscope, with the top of a Punky Penguin poking out of a front pocket, and Woodgate is wearing what I later find out to be his trademark costume of galoshes, flowing black cloak with scarlet lining, and a badge proudly proclaiming "I rode the Mallard!"

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Another couple open the door to enter the cafe but, looking across to the far corner, then decide on another course of action and back back outside. Keen to break the silence and yet eager to relish the moment that might just lead to the next big thing to come out of the English musical hinterland, I fumble with my notebook and list of questions, before opening with:

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Brainfoot: "So, Psychedelic Paramedic, why all the farce?"

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Foster: "What? Farce? You mean vicars and cakes and saucy double entendres?"

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Brainfoot: "Err, no! Sorry! I read my shorthand wrong. Fuss! Why all the fuss?"

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Foster: "Oh, fuss. Fuss is it?"

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Brainfoot: "Yes, Why?"

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The question hangs in the air for a few moments as the trio, who coalesced some years back west of Lowestoft as fellow students of the University of Life, then admit to being perplexed.

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Stanley: "I'll admit I am perplexed."

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Woodgate: "Yes - at the best of times."

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Stanley: "But what is it all about? And well, how did we get here?"

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Three musical spirits with aspirations to do something or other musical, the three were blown together by random winds to finally travel in something like the same direction. Along the way, they rubbed along with fellow wayward souls who sometimes augmented what would become the Psychedelic Paramedic sound in various ways. Always at the core of the group though was the restless questioning and uncertain looseness of its own raison detre.

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Foster: "We've got some members - and it's such a loose thing - but they don't even know they're members of the group, you know? Funny innit, but they are, you know. No point telling them though. They don't know and best leave it at that. It's special - very special. You mustn't mess with the formula. What works, works!"

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Woodgate then interjects, recalling the trains that were always there in the background.

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Woodgate: "I loved 'em. For years, I just loved trains."

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Indeed, Woodgate's was a journey that would take him many places over the years, to many stations, from many station platforms - and at no little expense.

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Foster: "I remember the early days. The days were grey and dull and they felt empty. And then I got a Chopper, and everything changed. It was orange with black lettering and the iconic seat and Sturmey Archer gearstick. Someone else had a brown one with, I think, yellow lettering on it. I felt sorry for them. I also saw a purple one once and you know, there were also Chippers and Tomahawks."

 

Brainfoot: "Yes, yes, I'm sure. But what about your influences? Some of those early influences?"

 

Stanley: "Ah, yes, influences. Hmmmm. I remember, I remember. Well, err, you've put me on the spot there, but clearly there was Dolcis, and Freeman Hardy and Willis, and Melson and Wingate."

 

Brainfoot: "But those are all shops, aren't they? Two shoe shops and an opticians, I think."

 

Stanley: "Yes. Yes. They were good times."

 

Brainfoot: "Really?"

 

Stanley: "Yes, good times. Good deals too. Gone now, I suppose, like so many things. But they're still up here, you know (Stanley is tapping his temple). It must mean something - that they're still up here."

 

Foster: "Yes, I see it like it's all one big relay race. You know, you take your turn, you have a go and you

pass it on, don't you? It's like what Lennon said. He said, 'I can put the kettle on, but it's up to you to pour

the tea.'"

 

Stanley and Woodgate nod knowingly, as we all soak up the profundity. Then, for the briefest moment, Woodgate looks pained. He shifts on his seat, and it passes.

 

Woodgate: "You know, I remember the time when we all just seemed to drift apart. Mike got heavily into being a Capstan lathe operator, I moved from the trains more into the transport infrastructure side of things, and Rich, well...."

 

Foster then takes up the painful subject: "Yes. I remember that time. It was when I began my long walk into the wilderness - my Pat Coombs years."

 

Stanley and Woodgate bow their heads.

 

Foster: "I was lost, you know. Bergerac, Howard's Way, All Creatures Great And Small, and Nerys Hughes in The District Nurse. Night after night. It was awful. Just awful."

 

Foster then recounted how he also began a hopeless quest to find and marry the woman who danced over the opening credits of Roald Dahl's Tales Of The Unexpected. He never found her.

 

Foster: "I was a lovesick fool!"

 

Woodgate: "He was."

 

Stanley: "Yes, just a lovesick fool. We tried to warn him."

 

Brainfoot: "I see. Yes. But then, would you say that this pain you've felt, and shared, this pain, and the understanding of it, your camaraderie, this has informed the very soul of Psychedelic Paramedic, your music, your observations, and so, in a sense, your joie de vivre?"

 

Foster: "Well, if you like."

 

Stanley: "Yes. It really is like a marathon, I suppose. You go the distance and a watched kettle never boils, does it?"

 

Woodgate: "I think you've already said that."

 

Stanley: "Really? I said it? I thought it was Ringo!"

 

At this point, Brainfoot's mobile phone rings. He answers it and then, looking puzzled, hands it to Foster, saying: "It's for you. It's Melson and Wingate."

 

Foster: "Oh, good. I've been waiting for this. Hope you don't mind I gave them

your number."

 

Brainfoot: "No. Not at all."

 

Foster then holds a protracted conversation on the phone before eventually ending the call and handing the phone back to Brainfoot.

 

Foster: "Now, you were asking us about what our musical influences are, weren't you?"

 

Cafe owner: "Excuse me, but are you going to order anything?"

 

Foster: "Oh, yes, yes. Err, we're just deciding. Can you give us a minute?"

 

Cafe owner: "Ok. I'll come back."

 

Brainfoot: "So yes, influences, musical influences?"

 

Foster: "Well, I've got to think about this because it was a long time ago that I started to write songs. I guess you could say that I have long been inclined to vent my musical bent - sometimes in partnership with John, sometimes with Mike, and otherwise, with myself. But I think Mike especially has flowered in the last few years or so, and in my mind, I'd say he has written a slew of really good songs."

 

Brainfoot: "A what?"

 

Foster: "A slew."

 

Brainfoot: "Bless you."

 

Foster: "Thank you."

 

Woodgate: "But you know, I think it was with me that you wrote the first Psychedelic Paramedic songs."

 

Foster: "I think you're right there, John. And over those years we worked together, we covered quite a few different styles."

 

Woodgate: "Yes, there was blues and rock and funk and country and western and even psychedelia

and Merseybeat."

 

Stanley: "Yes, a right musical stew."

 

Brainfoot: "A what?"

 

Stanley: "A stew."

 

Brainfoot: "Bless you."

 

Stanley: "Thank you."

 

Foster then points to the cafe window and says excitedly: "Hey, look. There's a bird out there and it looks like one of those Arctic seabirds."

 

Brainfoot: "What - a skua?"

 

Foster: "Bless you."

 

Brainfoot: "Thank you."

 

Cafe owner: "Now, what are you going to order?"