I had a phone call today from a guitarist who wants to meet up with me at the studio and talk about maybe doing some jamming together. I shat my pants immediately. When I put my name of the ‘solo amateurs’ list I honestly hoped I’d never hear from anybody. Or at the very best I hoped that I’d have time to get a lot better before anybody decided to use my number. They obviously weren’t kidding when they said that there’s a scarcity of drummers on the local music scene. I probably shouldn’t have put my name and number up until I felt confident enough to go through with it. Anyway I compounded my mistake by agreeing to meet him for coffee this week.
Sometimes, when I say and do things, I could swear there is someone else controlling me…
We had lunch with Ted and Beryl today. Ted seems to be drinking a lot of wine at the moment, and Beryl is worried. She also cooked the biggest roast chicken I have ever seen and stuffed us all to the point of explosion. I’m sitting here now on the sofa with the keyboard resting on my lap, feeling exhausted by the act of digesting.
Chicken is good
When it tastes like it should
If it ain’t cooked enough
Then your guts will be rough
If this poem ain’t fine
Then I’ve drunk too much wine
RC 21-7-13
No comments:
Post a Comment