Prohibition Jazz

An unusual weekend.

The ongoing soap opera that is my own, and other people's lives continued. Spent the bulk of the weekend with LBF, work ahving intervened in our efforts to atend the weekend Lemon Wedding

First we went to see The Original Rabbit's Foot Spasm Band, who play prohibition jazz. This is the haunt of JazzMan, who seems unable to do right by Schlingo. Of course, that's my definition of right, and trying to throw two people together because YOU think it'll work is potentially fraught.

It is a shame tho', because Schlingo is aces, and JazzMan seems like a nice fella, barring this one thing.

Anyway, that's their business, not ours.

As for the jazz, they're excellent, and much grooving was done, wheels greased with joyous lager, and the stench of gin and sympathy.

I was somewhat surprised by the youth of the crowd, but I suppose the hepcats that shook their bad things to jazz in the 20s and 30s were young 'uns, so there's no reason why they shouldn't be this time around.

Anyway, I commend them to you.

Lazy Sunday Afternoons

So, after agreeing to work Saturday, then quietly grumbling about it under my breath, like a passive aggressive chimp, I tripped up to La Maison Belle Fille. I wasn't much use Saturday evening, barely able to stay awake for dinner, and frankly I'm not sure I was much better Sunday, but at least it was more fun.

We schlepped down to a local pub for lunchtime, to sample their sandwiches, which LBF had described as 'amazing', a term she is fond of. They weren't bad after all, but I'm not sure they were amazing. Still, one man's meat, and all that...

We picked up Schlingo on the way. She is always good company, being as prone as I am to outbursts of rage, and not afraid to speak her mind, which I respect greatly. Which made it all the more amusing when a phone call from her boss spooked her into accidentally answering the phone, then hiding it in her bag.

Ensconced in the pub, we turned our attention to the serious matter of the day: a game of Scrabble. The girls are Scrabble geniuses (genii?) so I tried to put them off by flooding the pub with smoke from the wood burning stove; on reflection this was always doomed to failure, and didn't endear me to the rest of the pub's denizens.

We were also joined by JazzMan, whom I like very much, tho' his and Schlingo's relationship is more complex than it should be, which is a shame.

Predictably, Scrabble was won by Schlingo, with LBF in close second, and Jazz and I bringing up the rear. Schlingo was gracious in victory, a fact I forgot when getting a question right during a game of Trivial Pursuit. It turns out no-one else like my 'victory dance'

Smug dance notwithstanding, a good time seemed to be had by all, although I probably drank a bit too much Guinness.

Ah, well; here's to more Sundays by the fire, with me struggling to make the word 'Cat'.