Rob’s contact with all things folkie has been intermittent, but started at Primary School in the village of Cumnor, in the northernmost corner of the Vale of the White Horse, close to Oxford but then in Berkshire (well, it matters to him – as the local saying went: Be oi Oxfordshoire, be oi bu but back to the story). Given the choice between chess and country dancing on Friday afternoons, he started with the board game but soon decided that meeting girls would be far more interesting. Under the tutelage of Mrs Peacock, he learned that he could dance and that country dancing was extremely enjoyable.

So why he did not carry it on whilst at Big School but waited until University cannot be explained – not even by me, dear readers, his amanuensis and biographer. At Nottingham University he met Philip Rowe, but whilst they played in the orchestra and at church together it would be several years later, after Philip had left for the real world and Rob had started his PhD, but both still in Nottingham, that Rob joined Knotted Chord. Official records in those pre-internet days are hazy, but it is believed that this occurred either late in 1988 or early in 1989.

Rob joined as guitarist but, after experimenting with recorder in another band, brought that into Knotted Chord as well. Having the option to switch instruments for different styles of music and dance was a useful device to change the sound of the band as a whole. Later still he added bodhran to the mix – although he only brings out his 18 inch goat on special occasions.

By 1992, work demands meant all his classical musical activities – playing bassoon, singing and conducting – had ceased, since when folk has been the only music he gets to do – as a result of which it has taken on ever-greater importance as an escape. Work continues to take up most time (he is Reader in European Economics in the Division of Economics at Nottingham Business School), whilst a depressing amount of what time is left is spent driving back down South to watch Oxford United, lose. His wife, Ursula, has never known a time when the (now not so) Mighty Yellows were doing well but, gentleman that he is, he refuses to blame her for their failings and general uselessness.

Rob Ackrill at work

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