It was “Fun” day today at The Airport Formerly Known As Barton. After objecting to paying £6.00 entry fee, eventually relenting and paying a fiver, we trudged through the mud towards the newly refurbished cafe. The Airport cafe has recently morphed into a Bar and Restaurant, not that there was anything wrong with it when it was just a cafe. Alan Sugar was given a tuna butty in this very cafe when his light aircraft had to make an emergency landing here. I’ve had many a good egg on toast in here. As I walked into the Airfield Lodge I was rather taken aback to see Elvis introducing himself on stage, just as Jerry St Clair used to at The Phoenix Club. I walked straight back out of the entrance, round to the front of the lodge to enjoy Elvis’s set. From my spot down the front I could see his set list blowing in the wind, one corner of it secured underneath his mic stand. The flimsy bit of paper was in danger of blowing away and Elvis knew it. A woman appeared from backstage, (from just inside the cafe), she shunted her handbag further up her shoulder, strode out in front of The King and re-secured the set list. I imagined it was just like this in Vegas. After enjoying the set for a while we fancied a warm so back inside we went. We found the only empty table, just by the toilets. My daughter wanted a cheese sandwich, chips and a coke. Despite being hungry, I settled on a coffee as the menu was all burger and chips, cheese burger and chips, fish and chips, all of which did not appeal to me. No sign of egg on toast. I joined the long queue. After giving the girl my order she then told me I could not have a cheese sandwich, only what was there. I could not see any pre packed cheese sandwiches. I asked her if she could make one for my daughter, she made no apologies, she told me “No” and said they only had stock for what was out. She then rambled on for a while about how everything had changed; she wafted a laminated menu under my nose, pointed her finger at it and told me that was the menu. I handed over eight quid to another girl operating the till and she handed me a raffle ticket with the number 297 on it. Said girl told me to stay in the area so she knew where we would be. I replied that we were just over in the corner. She ignored me. My coffee tasted rather good, but it was served to me in a polystyrene cup and I had to lift a six pinter to put my milk in. After a short wait, a young lad hollered, “297”, to which I replied, “Over here”. The chips were enveloped in a polystyrene container too. I don’t know if this is the norm, or were these receptacles just being used today, in the name of fun? Elvis was still at it over the other side of the cafe.