Better Than Nothing

I might have seen Hortense the other day. She was in a small quandary, poor thing,  barely adequate for this time of year.  Hortense has been hanging out for the postman for weeks now, hoping he'd come around but he hasn't and her mailbox has lain empty for quite some time .  Hortense retains her unflagging optimism, although it was sadly dented by the circumstances of her dismissal from the Oscar Beetroot Band (*). Quite why she lit the torch for her last cabaret song is a mystery to us all, and given that the Poisoned Ferret burnt to the ground during the third chorus, it is a mystery which must remain unsolved. Every year since, she lights a candle on the anniversary, sets fire to the curtains, and watches the Fire Brigade put it out with their big hose.


It's better than nothing.


Much like the jam session last Sunday. A quiet afternoon threatened, with everyone away for Easter, no bass, no drums, but singers and saxaphones a'plenty, Bob,  Marion and meself on keys, all upstaged by the return of (cue trumpet) Peter Dann, anonymous author of the great Melband put-down, and gentle blower of the silver bugle - we just had to pin back the lug'oles and listen.  POCKOTL held court at the back of the bar and Al amused himself at the drum set. Whilst it is generally accepted that there is a beat in a bossa, Al is still working out which part of the bar it should be in (**). 


Singers on the day were Deb, Maria, Lisbeth, Sonny (blues)  and (cue tonsils) one time jammer Amanda whose knee is no longer crook, and whose singing never was.. Other familiar faces in the gathering included the avuncular Mark, and Peter, one of the few carpenters who can still count to ten. Welcome back.


It was all quite a bit better than nothing.

(*)  No consideration of the Balkan conflicts of the Nineteenth Century would be complete without at least one reference to the Oscar Beetroot Band, although I am not sure why.
(**)  In the corner, next to the piano. Hortense could show him where to put it in a flash.