… in a fashion… Started the day with four (yes, four, read it and weep) saxophones. I tried suggesting that they should all get up and play at once, but it turns out saxophony is a competitive sport, and they each decided that the others were too good – which, of course, they weren’t.

And no bass player, for which I own an apology to pianist Peter Garam – we made him open the innings with no bass line, no proper drummer, and You’ve Changed, with which he professed no familiarity. Sounded alright to me…

Along with the Captain (Chaos), there was Laurie (sweet tone), Jeff (Misty), and the Blast from the past and all round bon vivant Alan West – turns out he lives pretty close by, and has lost none of his ability on sax…

Newcomer Dan, or Daniel perhaps, sat patiently waiting for his turn on piano, then launched into Fly Me To The Moon. Hope he comes again. Then Ezra (trombone) joined in – he took a while to warm up all 9 feet of the old brass pipe, but really added something to the jam – producing warm tones, with Julian on floot. The saxopholologists foregathered to a nearby table and attempted to snaffle all the sliders and munchies that the Post put on.

Ivan and Dave No Nickname arrived fashionably late, or more late than fashionable, take your pick; and took over bass duties from the exhausted left handed piano players, meself and Malcolm as well as the aforementioned Garam. Sala played the drums aided by innate proficiency, which is more than could be said for the alternative.

And that was it really: the first session in living memory with no singers, and the smallest line-up for, literally, years. It is a good thing they all played some sweet stuff. The audience seemed to enjoy it, the Budvar ran out, and the kids behaved.

Micro-managed? – there was stuff all to manage, what with the small turnout and the Captain calling time early.

‘Twas fun, but. Let’s do it again.


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