Ten thousand apologies Rochelle, missed it last week, but am back this week, sometimes that’s how it goes, and it was probably someone else’s fault… Kids are home for half term, the house is full of wash baskets and crisp packets. So thanks to Ted Strutz for the photo, I believe this is what people call a gig, can’t make out who it is, possibly Roger Waters looking at his gait,  so I’ll have to concentrate on something else… Mmm tricky. So let’s see what comes out.

On My Marks…

Get Set…

GO!!!

A vast crowd of people hunched hypnotised as the prophet churned out his dystopian sermons.

They’d lapped it up the first time; he’d befriended them, but now they tumbled blindly vacantly into it, like a Trip, joyous blankness in his bleakness.

“And they shall come, etc etc. Blah blah will smite…”

It just went on.

When his tour bus exploded behind the stage everyone thought it was a pyrotechnical marvel, as chemistry lab molecules fell from the sky. Simple fact was a roadie chucked a cigarette into the Sanican Honeybucket.

“Comfortably Numb, Comfortably Numb” chanted the comfortably numb.

There we are, 100 words on the photo, which I think upon reflection is Roger Waters, love the tunes, not a big fan of the bloke’s politics.