Went to a gig in Bristol last night, after a while I felt like I was in Giles Peterson’s front room; too much self indulgent, noodled modern jazz and so more than i could take, we left before the encore. That type of music is great outside on a sunny Sunday afternoon at a festival, when theres a lot of love in the air. Last night the love was probably there, but it was hot and in a converted church and I was tired, there i’ve said it, I haven’t got the pace any more.
It’s like admitting i need vari-focals which incidentally hasn’t been proven yet but an eye test will be coming shortly.
In the pre-club pub we went to, there were 3 toilets, male, female and transgender. I’ve never seen that before.
Some photos, I’m exhausted too and i’m sure my American friends are too after the Trump fiasco over these last two days. The man is a cockwomble.
America has route 66, we’ve got temporary parish challenge walk 55, put that in your proverbial pipes.
Can you spot them?