The Last Gig

Dear Diary,


Last night was a good disaster. The job is finished and the state of play remains uncertain there. As Gulliver bowed his fiddle the people cheered us on. The old-timey Bluegrass went down a storm. People loved it.

The only problem? Harry. He couldn't be bothered to learn any new songs, much less any of the tunes in my repertoire! (I had learned forty new numbers in the two days beforehand.) So. What gives?

When I walked passed this morning I noticed the "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" posters had been taken down. One of us is fired. It is not me. Perhaps we both are. Who knows? Who cares? If I tenaciously stay on the street I can earn more in a shorter space of time than what I make at the pub. I don't care about the free booze.

Before I left I made sure to put the word out that I was unhappy with the fact that Harry wasn't bothered learning anything new, and that I was fed up playing 'the very best of the very best of pub hits, volume two' (his regular set. Mainly played too loud and too fast).

So. "No Electrickery" are moving on. Their's another act on there tonight, I'll see what the score is. With any luck I still have a job. I am easily the best act there, and have been playing in that place for about four months now, on a weekly basis.

The forum activity is hotting up, lots of progress being made. We're inching closer to a complete essay, well ahead of schedule.

I am to book a ticket to go see my old man today. That will be nice at least. Hearing his flute and sax', also just hangin' out and havin' a mighty-fine time will be nice. I am going to take Dirty Gurty the guitar an leave Sweaty Betty the banjuitar to abide alone. I played her at the gig last night, Sea-Sick Steve style. Aye. We were so on the flex.

I am less angry now and less hungover. Let it go Maxwell: Silver Hammer is finished, as are the Bunion Boys, move over, it's time for "No Electrickery" to start playing.

I can't wait to leave music behind and get a job teaching History in France or somewhere. (England is just too difficult to gt a job anywhere). One must have written three micrographs, six journals, all cited by other bespoke Historians, then one must convince the institution that you aim to work at that they cannot do without you. That you'll earn them ten times more money than they pay you. (I learned this at the conference this year). Life is tough, but so am I.

I want to teach History in France to say, "You lost. We won. Here's why..."

Maximus Fleximus