The contraflow system for the busses came into force this morning. Outside, occasionally, a red shape will make its way up the road the wrong way. It’s actually quite disturbing. Whether this means that the cyclists will use the lane that they now only have to share with the busses or whether they will ride on the pavement remains to be seen. I suspect that they will continue to use the pavement.
I have a painful sore throat, although I’m not otherwise ill. It gives people the impression I’m a lot less well than I am – as ill, in fact, as I was all those times they didn’t think I was ill because I didn’t sound it.
The morning is spent struggling with fonts – a lot of little jobs for a lot of people. Quite frustrating, really.
This continues into and after when my lunch was supposed to be, so the day becomes a bit of a blur. At some point I switch to the Secret Project, then run through Joe’s tunes.
On the way to the Jazz jam, I see the first deliberate infractor of the new contraflow system – a small van takes a (now illegal) turn into a road that only leads to the contraflow. He doesn’t come out, so I can only assume that he a. safely picked his way through onto the main road; or b. was smashed to pieces by a passing bus. All in all it would have been just as easy for him to follow the one way system.
The jam itself – my first for three weeks – is fun. Well, chaotic and difficult to hear anything and occasionally drifting into chordless, timeless insanity. But that’s a sort of fun. I now know that anything that Roland can come up with (“It’s in Eb, not A. And we’re going to do it fast”) is nothing compared to some of Robert’s impossible tasks, and can lead to some storming interpretations of tired old warhorses. My sore throat makes communication difficult, so on the whole I avoid it.
Bitchy comment: There was a lot of love in that room tonight, and if the participants could only learn to direct it at anything other than themselves, we could probably bring about World Peace.
On the way home I have to try to explain Guitar Craft to Glyn, and describing the Bed Incident keeps me outside and away from my bed for a while.