I make no apologies for the blog title. It's nothing to do with me, honest. After Saturday's bike fit - which took over 5 hours! - I felt a little bit guilty about neglecting my family. To be fair, this had been declared "my weekend" where I was going to do all the things I wanted to do and had not had a chance to do over the last 3 months while I was training for Marin Triathlon.I'm not talking here about a weekend away in St Moritz or dining at Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, I'm talking about fairly routine stuff. Buying underwear, for example. So the weekend was officially mine to do with as I pleased, and the bike fit was my bit of luxury, but nonetheless I did feel a need to treat Jo. This was especially so, since she had even fulfilled her side of our agreement regarding tea in bed this morning. The agreement (which I had written into our pre-nup and is legally enforceable should the need arise) states that on "my" weekends she makes the tea. Normally she falls short in this respect. I lie there from about 5:45 AM waiting, giving her the odd sly nudge, but she just snoozes peacefully on. Sometimes till way after 7:00AM. It's ridiculous. What kind of innocence allows that kind of slumber? My own version of sleep has me writhing and turning, wrestling with the duvet and pillows for a few hours before I can get up and get on with the day. It certainly doesn't allow multiple hours of snoozing. Anyway, this morning I think she must have set the alarm or something because there it was - a golden cuppa on my bedside table. Once I'd instructed my lawyer to halt proceedings I lay there and enjoyed it like no other. Bliss! I read "Triathlon 220" magazine on the iPad, and all was well.
So clearly I needed to repay this treat, and when I got back from the fitting session we agreed to go out to the local jazz club. This where my pal Louisiana Joe plays, and it's a totally random setup. The bar sells one line of food. Cheese. We've had all 3 meal combinations: melted cheese; not melted cheese; and cheese with a plate of lettuce (that's the balanced one). But it's of little consequence. The bar is just a place where cool dudes meet. We go there, and we aren't cool although we are accepted. During the early part of the evening various people turn up, instruments arrive (with or without the right people) and eventually music starts. The personnel varies, although there are about 3 or 4 regulars. Tonight, a "band leader" clearly emerged. Although he was apparently as cool and relaxed as all the others (you can't really tell who is just there having a drink, and who is in the band), I began to detect some stress in his body language. I was really interested in this, it was people-watching at a new level. You know how it is when you see someone in certain circumstances and they give the appearance of being everything you want to be? And then eventually you realise that they are just like you, have the same fears, concerns and shortcomings. This was one of those. Cool Dude revealed the stresses of trying to get a band of 8 individuals and their instruments together to put on a show. This isn't a money thing, They play for tips and I doubt it goes far between 8. But they are musicians, and they want to play for you. So Cool Dude was having a hard time while I enjoyed every minute of it. Eventually, it turned out that the car with the drum kit and double bass wasn't where it should be, and the bass player and drummer were getting stuck into a glass or two while Cool Dude worried about getting everything together. About an hour passed before all 8, with their instruments, were crammed into their allocated 5 square yards of bar space and started playing a bit of John Coltrane. The set was loose, in all senses of the word. Some of the musicians periodically wandered out either into the audience, or onto the street, to talk to friends or have a smoke, and Cool Dude's stress levels were visibly rising. He couldn't get the band playing tight, and his clarinet playing was a cut above the rest. He stole a couple of unscripted solos and poured his stress out through his clarinet. It was good to watch. He got a bit annoyed with the horn player who seemed to have about a half-second delay built in, but double bass and piano were doing just great, while the tom-tom guy inhabited a happy though slightly displaced world of his own. Then a girl who I hadn't seen before turned up with a sax. She looked like a Marks and Spencer's supervisor, and about as different from Cool Dude as you could get, and it was clear she and Cool Dude had never met. She took her spot, exchanged a quick glance with Cool Dude, and BOOM! You'd have thought they'd been together for years. They sparkled and grew right in front of my eyes, and you could see the chemistry working. Musical chemistry. When they finished the set they were high-fiving and giving out big grins: they had found soul mates and it was lovely to witness.
By this time, Jo and I were drinking herbal tea as more wine would have rendered Sunday useless. I think it might have been the first time the bar had served tea, it involved a lot of cupboard-opening and searching. Meanwhile an even cooler dude than Cool Dude had come in, and I hoped he would be a saxophonist who would blow us all away. He wore all white, including white socks and shoes, and dreadlocks that might have been white or grey, I couldn't tell. Sadly, he just sat around and looked cool; he might or might not be a sax player, I never found out, but I still loved experiencing the cool aura. The band's set finished, and the boss man thanked the audience. "We are Black Lesbian Aftershave; thank you very much." There was a round of applause and a ripple of laughter. I wasn't sure what the correct response to that might be, so I just kept quiet and tried to look cool. A great evening.
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