Horns

Good glory, I've gone all green. Some sort of bug surely, you say.

No, in fact, its all in honour of envy. Vince Jones is hitting town next weekend and I"m heading out. Yes, that's right, I'll be out of town that weekend so I won't be there. Thus the envy.

I love the trumpet. If you're not with me on this then go listen to Chet Baker's version of 'My Funny Valentine'. That's him up there.

Go on.

Oh alright, then, here: http://www.last.fm/music/Chet+Baker

All a-quiver girls?

Now, go buy a ticket to Vince. You'll love me for it.

E.

Here's something muscular.

My friend was here recently from Out-of-Town and while admiring my ancient Remington on my great-grandmother's wooden table in its very own pride-of-place with a bentwood chair at the ready, she (who has been to E. Hemingway's house) said 'it looks just like his writing table'. 'Oh except there was no chair. Apparently he wrote standing up.'

Oh.

All drinking, all shooting, all fishing, up standing, all pacing man -o-man.

Lets raise our glasses, shall we?

dissing

Today, I express-posted my dissertation (Masters) to its final resting place. I am about to have some more letters after my name in exchange.

Fancy.

I now assume that I will post more often than the blue moon shows its face.

And if I had a face like that, why wouldn't I?