What do you do for your friends, when they need help?
They don’t ask (they never ask); I’ve never met anyone who hauled up a flag and yelled Help! Usually they just retire from view. Some disappear altogether. But then maybe they don’t want a shoulder to cry on, or a shared coffee table on which to set the world to rights.
Maybe they want someone to go to for a chat, about other stuff, ordinary things. A bit of light relief. I dunno, but I worry that sometimes it’s not enough to just watch.
Played another gig with Thelonious Punk last week, third instrument, and the third time I’ve had to learn the set, in as many gigs; I was on tenor sax this time and I told Ralphy I’m sticking with it; he’s such a brilliant mercurial soloist that I need to be on top of my game just to keep him in sight, and I can’t keep switching. It spreads me too thin.
So Bb* tenor saxophone it is.
The good news is the management of The Experience, where we have our fortnightly residency, has offered us an all-nighter on the bank holiday, plus free beer.
Me, I like the winter, for reasons I’ve explained earlier, the sort of fresh sunshine you get on cold December mornings. But it is pretty. Starlight has taken up a position in the shade, lying on a wall at the back of the house, and probably won’t move for the rest of the day.
I’m on my ninth migraine in as many weeks; and the little yellow pills, on top of a squally head cold, have left me feeling a tad groggy; last night, for the first time in memory I fell asleep fully clothed on the bed, and didn’t wake til morning.
Wonderful dreams though.
This all means that I haven’t been writing most of the last week, on top of nothing much at all for the previous month. But I’m making the effort to get out of the house this afternoon, and go find a cafe somewhere for an hour or two.