Almost, but not quite, enough to inspire religious feeling.

I do some pottering and some lying about.

When I get to the gym in the afternoon, I manage to jog/run/propel myself on the treadmill for forty-five minutes, which isn’t unheard of but is a trifle Twilight Zone for me.

I do attempt practising, and look (in vain) for the cable that connects my camera to my computer to try to get rid of the backlog of pictures that have built up since … well, since before I went to Los Molinos.

I take the camera anyway and set off for the gig. I think I’m running late, and manage to get on a bus that the driver immediately closes the doors behind me and sets off after a rogue passenger (who turns out to have got off at the wrong stop and popped back on again by the back doors. The driver is having none of this, or, indeed, anything else). He then avails himself of the opportunity to drive as slowly as possible, all the better to catch the many red lights between here and Camberwell.

I get there, find that there is no PA (and so no need for a soundcheck, or, indeed, the rucksack of cables that I’ve brought with me – I really should check these things first) and get myself a bottle of water, meeting Rich B (who’s on the way to the venue). Then there’s the gig, from which I return, as is traditional, very late.

I promised Rich that I’d put in the story of the Crypt, as I understand it (so I might have misheard the story or someone might have inserted fiction along the way).

What I heard is that the church received an amount of cash from a totally unexpected source – it might be wrong to say that a large bag full of used notes was found on the church steps, but that’s a nice image and so I’m leaving it in. The vicar was initially unsure of what to do with this windfall, but was convinced by Russell, a parishioner, that this was God’s way of telling them that he really wanted a jazz club in the crypt of the church.

It seems that God was right – the club has gone from strength to strength and is now one of the premier (albeit bijou) jazz clubs in the city.

Almost, but not quite, enough to inspire religious feeling.