Madge, scourge of Altona West and substitute Lollipop Lady when it suits her, is, as the several readers of this august organ would know, quite the philosopher: and can turn quite reflective after polishing off seven snags, two matelots and a packet of Winnie Blues for breakfast. This habitual start to her day, generally partaken around 4 pm, leaves her in a reflective mood until such time as the sun sets and the roads around Refinery Terrace grow strangely quiet.
It was in such a mood that she remarked only the other day how a Jam Session can, on occasion, reach extraordinary heights of musicality and creativity: taking jazz to another level. She may have been quoting Nietszhe again, but it could have been a head cold.
Extraordinary? The Sunday Arvo Jam could not have been so described: when the usual suspects turned up, tuned up and took to mangling innocent toons with a languid degree of gusto. It went on for, as Hortense might have said had she been there, hours. No heights were scaled.
The guilty parties included The Captain, meself, a tireless Colonel T, Hirsh, Constable, Peter on trumpet, Noel on sax, Marion on recorder (good to see ya!) Ben the Banker, Monsieur Sebastian, Ali, the Debster, Kay De Darwin, Mrs Constable, and quite possibly Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all. Punishments will be awarded later.
Extraordinary? Probably not, but sometimes it is good to celebrate the ordinary, quaff some social lubricant and just have a good time. So we did. And at the end of it, all the bits got put back in the box and nobody left with a burning desire to get to Monday early, so I daresay we will do it again.