What seems a lifetime ago, I was working for the Birmingham University Field Archaeology Unit. My cousin, Shaiz, came up for the weekend looking for some action. Having nothing to do on a particularly fine Saturday, I flippantly suggested that we visit Robert Plant’s home. This was before online stalking was even a thing but I had in fact discovered that he lived in a village in Worcestershire while leafing through a Led Zeppelin biography in a bookstore the previous week. Surely Shaiz would say no, I thought to myself. To my surprise he was up for it.

So we took the train from Birmingham to Kidderminster, only about an hour’s journey or less. Once we were out of the station, it was as though time had stopped at 1975, everything about the place screamed 1970s. From the way people dressed to the flock curtains adorning their windows. We roughly knew where Robert lived but weren’t exactly sure so went straight to the library as it occurred to me that we could check the electoral records. A stroke of genius on my part as we found his address. Hearts pounding, and feeling like kids going to watch our favourite football team, we then took a bus to his village. Within fifteen minutes we were there.

Wolverly is a one street village so we started walking. I remember the road was lined with trees on either side with a backdrop of gentle rolling hills covered in green fields. It was quiet except for the sound of birds chirping. As we got nearer, I started to have doubts, this was a bit silly. I’d only mentioned it as a lark, I had no idea it was going to be this easy to find out where he lived. I just wanted a day out. After what seemed like an eternity we finally reached our destination. By now I felt a complete idiot. ‘I can’t do this,’ I told Shaiz. But he was adamant. We had come all this way and now that we were here, we had to see Robert (so now we are on first name terms are we?). There was no turning back.

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