Once more the day settles into staring into space with my sinuses filling with … well, filling up. And I’ve got a sore throat. Oh, poor me.
In the evening, however, I drag my guitar stuff over to the Three Stags for a gig, of sorts. I can’t sing the songs I’ve been volunteered for on account of the gunge. Never mind. Despite all the preparation we’ve done, there’s an ad hoc feeling to the whole event, but then there usually is in gigs. I read somewhere the opinion that jazz is the art of faking it – however much one prepares, one ends up going onstage and having to fake it.
It’s quite an enjoyable evening, although I play dreadfully, I think. Lots of fluffed notes and overenthusiastic runs. Not bad playing (on my part) so much as uninspired. John’s programmed all the boppier numbers into the second half, so that feels better (apart from which I get the hang of playing as I’m going along).