Pat, for me it's twenty-four past eleven at night; I was supposed to be going to a bar at ten-thirty tonight to do a recce of a group that plays there two night a week, the bass also plays in the jazz group I shoot regularly, which is why I thought I'd go and see if it was worth/possible to do anything, but I'm just too pooped to pop. My bed sounds much more attractive, but once I get into the Internet it's the end of early sleep.
So for me, at least, your humour is perfectly fine, but don't expect that I shall always see it! It all depends on my state of mind, and that varies like the current Mediterranean weather patterns. I've just replied to a post about 50s musos; I've got the Rajun Cajun in my ears sending its delightful swamp pop rock; I've just had to learn how to do screen grabs (at last) because I wanted to be able to show somebody the atmosphere in the Patty Loveless Crazy Arms video, a combination I want to do with 20s makeup. Not me wearing it, of course, the girl I'm hoping will find it interesting. All these influences at one time, exhaustion, the toll of the years and I hardly know if I'm coming or going, but on the half-full or half-empty principle, I think I must be going.
Aren't birds fortunate? All they have to do is eat and, as noted, kill cars.
Buenas noches
Rob C
