Suspended from work for a week, on account of smelly feet.

Dear Diary,

I was almost fired today, on account of my strange body odour and smelly feet. It means I am not paid my usual tenner this week (I really needed the money) but providing I am sweet scented, and do a good job, I am permitted to play here next week. I should have gone busking. (I was going to but decided to play the café instead, on account of the alleyway ban on buskers, that and I’d rather have a gig than busk). I am so boned.

No matter. I shall just have to forage for food. There are no problems: only solutions. I need to find a way to make money. I’m buggered. This is a nightmare. Chin up Maxy. Just scram, get home, and get stuck into my coursework.

At the very least, it’s a lovely day. Today has given me the opportunity to quit smoking (I have no choice) and clean up my act. They still gave me a breakfast and a cup of tea, but it is savage not being able to have any money this week. Must think fast. I could flog a section of my miniature collection, something I’ve been toying with that idea for a while now. The elven lords wouldn’t be too happy about it, and the Saxons would have no-one else to fight, which is perhaps a good thing. Maybe they’ll put down their weapons, and pick up musical instruments instead? Let’s hope so.

Back to Latin.

F- it! I can just do a quick ‘stealth busk’ on the way home. Needs must as the devil drives...

Just as I was leaving the owner of the café came up to me, had a kind word with me and paid me anyway, result! (I sat and played some for about a half an hour - outside).

“So Ron’? No need to stealth busk after all ’ey boy?”, jolly good show. The elven lords are most pleased about the deferral on their tree-top castle sale. So are the Saxons.

Righty ho, vocab’ and declining verbs and conjugating nouns.

Ooh! This is quite a turn up for the books! Gulliver just called, and it looks like the band might be getting back together. Maybe. I’m not going to hold my breath. In any case, the café miss the one-eyed fiddler and banjoist every bit as much as I do. I really miss playing Old-Time. Even if it’s just a pint and a chat, it’ll be nice to see the old boy again.

Well, we talked it over and as I suspected, that was that: the moribund of No electrickery. No matter. We still play informally, but not professionally. One thing that did warm my heart was hearing that all the audience on the street and the staff at the café all ask the same thing: where’s Max? When the lone fiddle reports in melodic sonorous enticement, that same lonely sound yearns accompaniment. Aye. No man is an island. We’re off for a jam in the park, which will be, of course, as bitter-sweet as can be. I am not relishing the idea of playing on my own (for it is always better to play in a group than play with yourself) but that is what I am left with. The search for new musicians. That has been my life’s mission (that and the ever elusive search for peace and Enlightenment).

Some learnēd scholar once said to me, “It is far better to teach history, than become history.” Too true. I love my chosen subject, with a passion matched only by my thirst for intellectual fulfilment.

Yesterday I remember sitting in silence with Gung Fu. He has no internet (it’s been this way for quite a few weeks now) and was bored. The entire time I was there I scribbled and studied for Block 3 of my archæology module. It made me realise just how lucky I am to have found a subject that perks my interest, so much so that I spend each waking moment immersed in studious endeavour.

No more playing games. No more playing music. Now, is the time to focus, on history, language and archæology. Aye.