Musical Day

Dear Diary,

I arrived at Larry's and had a little trouble bringing the demijohn of Moonshine and forty-pint bucket full of old radio's and clothes through a busy town centre, complete with both Lillian and Gurty, hard-case and all.

So anyway, I dropped off my baggage at a friendly nearby house (Stig's place) then set-to busking. Alas, t'was a dreary day, and although I love making music, I couldn't abide it for very long. The rain drizzled. I was really clucking for some baccy. I did at least have a drop of Moonshine to warm the cockles. Aye.

When busking, the first drop is always the sweetest. It was soon followed by another, and another, both squids. One of the gentleman droppers was smartly dressed in a black suit with a black silk shirt and tie. The man had only recently moved here and was carrying classical guitar manuscript, notation. He introduced himself, everso well spoken, as well as I. Alas, I happily discovered the man was a Luthier. After exchanging numbers, he agreed to repair my ancient guitar. Excellent. The man admired Gurty. He really liked the look of Gertrude.

What else happened? Oh, another musician offered to take me to, and from, a gig tonight. I hate busking, it's too close to begging for my liking. I normally don't do open-mic' nights, there's no incentive. However, ever since my lull in gigs, I've been contemplating canvassing myself. Getting out there. This would provide just the opportunity. So, I agreed to go.

I encountered a half-caste lady I know, she offered to buy me lunch. We had bubble and squeek, over which we discussed philosophy and history. I met another man we both knew, another student with the University I attend. It was nice, not only the meal, but the company. The lady is coming to the gig tonight.

The queue at the shop was long, and as I fumbled clumsily for my change. The lady would've accepted the Gibraltarian piece or even the ten centime d'franc, but I like non-standard coins. Not to sell, but to melt-down for the metal and have Pangloss turn them into silver flowers.

Anyhow, the house needed a babysitter. As I negotiated the minefield of dog-pooh, I cut my hand on the rose bush. Bugger.

Now I must go and help Larry about the house again. Gladly. This Moonshine is beginning to kick-in. Rosy-red cheeks again. I don't know how on earth I am going to get all that brewing kit back home. I guess I'll hoof it.

On the Flex.

Max.