Fuck, fuckety fuck fuck fuck...
Bob Harris saw them and got them in for a session on Radio Two. And, as I wrote a couple of months back, they acquired a management team in the form of Gareth Williams and Stevie Horton, who also manage the festival.
It's been a big year for them and there's an Australian tour in the pipeline.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, given who their management are, they were booked to play at Cropredy again this time, at The Brasenose, noon on Saturday.
But with a beer garden packed full of increasingly excited teenage girls - and some of their mums - Dave Burn (second from right, above) stepped up to the microphone with 15 minutes to go to say that they were two men down and the set would start at 1.30 instead.
It did. Much whooping and hollering from the audience later Callum Adamson (on the left in the picture) told me what had kept him and Seebs Llewellyn (other end of the row) - when the rest of the band had come up a day early.
"I overslept," he said, with surprising frankness. "I really wanted to spend a night at home because we've been away a lot recently and I was supposed to be getting from my place in west London to Seebs's house for a lift. I hadn't had a big night on Friday, honest - just a curry and bed. But when it became clear I'd messed up and there wouldn't be time for my journey across London and the trip by car, we came up separately. He drove and I came up by taxi."
And how much was that? "£270," said Adamson without blushing.
After a pause to digest this information, I realised the money involved was in proportion to how much was at stake - the appearance of ingratitude on the anniversary of their big day would be a hard one to shake off.
"Yes," nodded Adamson, looking a tiny bit sorry for himself. "Stress city. I'm just glad I made it and I'm hoping to be forgiven."
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Other Cropredy posts are
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