I think there is a review of a Jam Session in there somewhere...

Before her Bairnsdale ballerina debacle, Madge from Altona was fairly keen on a young bicyclist by the name of Francis.. His aim, apparently was to do the Tour de France, Madge's aim, was of course to do something several degrees lower. She could never resist the offer of a Ploughman's lunch, especially if there were pickled onions and cold tongue involved. Whatever, she would have settled for the Tour de Francis, and very nearly did. That was in her early days, when she could still get into a corset, (although she preferred getting into trousers). 

Their favourite haunt was The Stuffed Parrot, which  was at that time in full swing. The music was hot, and the  jazzeurs were, by their own estimation, somewhat cool cats, who had taken to  affecting foppish looks, wearing a slouched berets, thick black framed glasses, and smoking cheap American cigarettes. Of course, the good folk of Altona do not take kindly to that sort of thing, so they also learnt to play every tune very fast, and run even faster. Especially if Madge was in the audience.

But I digress. The Leinster Arms, ah yes, that was what I was getting to. Got there Sunday arvo actually.   Frank and Brian starting off, with a bit of key from meself, and sax from Keef.  We took a tour through the Jack the Lad chartbook, Sam came in and played some drums, and we all managed to massacre Bernie's Tune, before blithely ignoring the fact that Chega De Saudade has two pages. Captain Chaos put us right on that one, Don wielded the axe for a while and Miss Sonya took out the tonsils and waltzed through a coupla ballads as you do. Then as the headcount/chaos factor mounted, Sam whipped out his organ.

We eventually got the life ban from the Leinster Lizard Lounge and Cabaret Club lifted, by explaining that it was a Hammond; and stepping over the prostrate form of a deeply disappointed Hortense, or not as the case may be, resumed with what is sometimes laughingly referred to as music for a splendid little session. I might try that again next week.

Happy Birthday is in F and Hortense has been out shopping

It is almost gratifying to hear people ask after Hortense, she who hovers in the nether recesses of the room, acquiver with excitement at the thought of yet another jam session; or not, as the case may be. She would not, as it turns out, have been disappointed with Sunday's shenanigans at all, leavened as it was with the 76th celebration of Alan's birth. There was an afternoon of fine music making, aural delights, wild jazz and blues, artistic creativity of the highest order etc etc. or she could have gone to the Leinster Jam Session instead, and heard the usual suspects mangling the usual tunes in the usual way, whilst the rest of us gossiped maliciously, spread doubtful rumours and sipped the occasional lunatic soup by way of diversion.

Al "Papa" Jazz is, as we are slowly realising, a natural on drums - you can tell he has never had a lesson in his life. He is so good he can play drums just as well in his sleep. . It seems like only yesterday that he discovered that drumsticks come in pairs. It is indeed a rare talent that takes seventy six years to reach this level of competence.

All in all, this was The Leinster Arms at its finest: packed to the gills and rocking. If you were there, and I haven't mentioned your name, it is because you are young, good looking and talented, and the rest of us are jealous. If you weren't there, then we were probably talking about you anyway.

But I digress. Hortense spent Sunday furniture shopping. (ah yes, that was the point I was getting to), so she may not have been at the Leinster after all. Intrigued by an ad that said all furniture was 50% off, and "Hurry!!! at this price the stock won't last long!" she rushed out and bought a sofa. Truth in advertising: the legs fell off on Monday morning.

See ya at the jam.