I have the kind of tiny mind that’s kept entertained by such cheap thrills. I have another six years of them and then ninety-something years to wait before they come round again.
The day is dedicated to the usual photoshoppery.
And in the evening it’s the jazz jam, again. I arrive after the ringer, which is unusual and gently terrifying, but I tend to get there with just about enough time to set up before it starts, so.
Typical shenannigans with the ringer. Phht. I’m not sure that I enjoy it as much as I’d like, when I have to jostle for songs. The usual trick of playing all the ones he knows/likes (coming up to me about five seconds before a song’s going to start), fighting for the last song (despite the fact that he’d been telling me he’d have gone by 10:30). I’m too old to put myself into situations that result in me whining like this. I have to Let Go of something, but I’m not sure what.
The bits of the set that I play are quite fun and occasionally challenging. Ahem. Roland manages to come up with some stuff (although he’s not given the material to produce any real rabbits). And I sing Night and Day a minor third above myy usual key, which results in at least one undesirable pitching decision.