It might always be something else.

The day is spent attacking work, or at least jabbing pathetically at it with a spoon going “Uhnn! Uhnn! Uhnn!”. The work fails to give in to this unscary attack.

Back to the Three Stags in the evening for the Jam. I’m dreading it slightly – not wanting a confrontation with anybody, but then I just offload the confrontation onto Glyn and I’m sure he doesn’t want to do it any more than I do.

As it turns out, three other bassists appear – the ringer, Maria and a chap with a double bass who only wants to play on a blues. So I end up sitting most of the evening out anyway. Hmm. I think I’m being generous, but who can say? I wonder if it’ll be like this all the time.

It sounds very boomy tonight, or perhaps it sounds very boomy every night and this is the first time I’ve noticed anything. Or perhaps it’s that I’ve put the bass amp right in front of the mike for the piano. That would do it.

Or it might be something else. It might always be something else. In fact it usually is.

I need to find a way to think bright and cheery thoughts, perhaps by giving everything up and sitting at the top of a mountain meditating for thirty years. That said, though, if I get pins and needles after twenty minutes, what would it be like after thirty years?