The Last Straw

evening all,

Well, a bad back, poor eyesight, dodgy hip, receding hairlines and bad dress sense not withstanding ( and that was just the audience) coupled with a very muddy sound which clearly had the big man very annoyed by the gestures he was directing to the side of the stage,

we didn't care. 

 Any gaps in the sound or in the memory banks we filled in splendidly, a 1000 voice choir singing every word, feeling every emotion, responding to every nuance and experience, honed from 30 years of returning again and again to the same album in different bedrooms in different houses with nothing in common but the shared experiences the album resonated within us.

Clutching at Straws.

 All the way through, in it's glorious angst filled, whiskey sodden, drug addled, bar propping tales of despair and redemption.

Clutching at Straws, still drowning.


night all


Fish