I struggle manfully from my bed and do my Sitting and practise. Then it is another isolated Walker day. I spend the lunchtime asleep.
At home, I set up a meeting with a fellow crafty for Wednesday: this will be the first meeting I’ve had with one since Sassoferrato, and hopefully will be informative.
Being Monday (and last Monday being an exception) it’s jazz Jam at the Three Stags day. I get there at 7:30 for the run through.
It starts as a nice and relaxed session. After the break a chap appears and says that he’ll be playing bass on the next one, so I sit that one out. Then a few songs later he reappears and says he’ll be playing on the next two. Hmm. It turns out he was the replacement for me last week when I was in Camden. Immediately my Paranoia Gland starts pumping fear and loathing into my blood stream. I suspect a plot. At least one plot, a conspiracy to oust me that goes all the way to the top. I suspect the CIA.
My response is to go home and get my guitar, leaving him to play bass for the rest of the session (something I think he wasn’t prepared for). My guitar playing is, sadly, a bit crappy, but never mind: I managed to outwit the conspiracy. I’ll take the Steinberger next week, in case I need it.
Obviously I could socialise.
After the jam finishes I pluck at the strings – for some reason I’m altogether less capable when the pressure is on. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so keen to widdly widdly and just play an appropriate solo.
For some reason I don’t get home until 12:00.