It is raining. It often is in Melbourne these days. As I look out the window, I can see a cat on the roof: it isn't hot, it isn't tin but it is definitely a cat. There were jazz cats at the Leinster Arms this week: they probably weren't hot, it may not have been jazz, but it was definitely the Leinster.... and all for a Sunday arvo jazz jam session...
I got there late, after a gig in sunny salubrious Warrandyte, to hear young Emily singing up a storm as well as up an octave on Summertime, Bob at the piano, Frankplaysbass, is -Don -is -good on guitar, Peter on sax and Captain Col stressin' at the helm - in other words the usual state of mellow chaos, in a variety of keys and tempos (tempi?).
Debbie sang, Lailah sang (but not whilst I was there), Sandro sang, Malcolm played the sax (but not whilst I was there) and then got on the drums, in the absence of Al (I want to be Bluddy Rich) who wasn't there, possibly one of the greatest drummers in the Western world, possibly not. Get better soon. But I digress.
The afternoon then took on a slightly surreal flavour with the arrival of a combination Hen's Bucks party, staggering in to the key of inebriate. Some fine singing ensued, almost in the right key, and occasionally with the lyrics and melody of the same song, at the same time.
It doesn't get any better than that, does it? We all wish it did, but you can't have everything.