Another fine day at the Gold Street Palais de Doowop

… last refuge of distressed gentlefolk, Collingwood tragics, poets, politicians, retired gangsters and the mildly medicated and dissolute. But not, thankfully, of real musicians. We wouldn’t want to destroy the traditions of the 423 years or whatever since Marg last heard some decent music.

Or, as the Oscar Beetroot Band once put it, if it ain’t in C#minor, don’t fix it…

But I digress. Once again, a peaceful Sunday afternoon reduced to a smouldering heap by the combined talents of the Captain, Adam the Bass, Danilo and Tom (drums), meself, Bob, Richard and Shaun on keys, a bevy of singers mainly called Chelly , debutante Lucy, and Kay,  Peter on sax and a whole bunch of others whose modesty is so admirable that I am unable to name them (including Jack). Oh, and the whole shebang upped a considerable notch by Julian on trumpet. Someone really must tell the lad that we honestly don’t know what we are doing, but it is kind of fun to have someone of his calibre playing at a tempo that is beyond us, and then looking puzzled when we can’t keep up.

Not much news to report from Refinery Terrace, Altona West. The silly season creeps apace down those littered and windswept streets; and Marge from Altona is so keenly anticipating the arrival of Santa down her chimney, that she no longer leaves the house, having fortified herself with a catering pack of Horizon 50’s and several bottles of the Altona West Country Women’s Association Jubilee port, which has been laid down for many years and is now maturing nicely. Hortense, who hasn’t been laid down for many years, should be so lucky. Which leads me to conclude that whilst there are lessons to be learned from the mid 19 Century Balkan conflicts, none of them apply in this case.

Next Sunday (that will probably be yesterday by the time you get this drivel) there may be a foregathering of Jammers for lunch at the Lunatic Soup Lounge (Atrium department) and no one is invited. You just have to turn up…

See ya there?

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