SUNDAY BREAKFAST (Somewhat delayed)

"The city air was wafer brittle. Too jagged for the scarcely sane
Avoiding interloper’s glances, aware that we’d come back again
The ancient crew now reassembled, hallowed sweat in gaudy light
The odds on mayhem swiftly shortening
In the course of such a lurid night
Sweet Anita tactile armored, Baby Joseph hides a gun
Never seen the fix so angry. Spurred us to the contract run
Through all the waterholes of destiny. Drinks all round, now see us right
Commerce long since ceased to signify
In the course of such a lurid night"

This is a stanza from one to the tunes we’ve been working on for the last few days. I quote it because the ancient crew really were reassembled and worked all week to bring ourselves up to the superior standards we now set for ourselves as venerable veterans of the rama-lama. We didn’t actually have champagne and caviar for breakfast but we had definitely earned it. We learned our limitations, took a couple of minor casualties, and, although some fine points still need sorting, the work was great and we realised that, after all these years, we really know the score. Andy, Tim and I will be airing out some of what we’ve achieved at a poetry show at the Albert pub in Brighton next Sunday afternoon. Full details will follow in a few days as Doc40 regularizes itself and I don’t feel I’m working too hard.

Click here (with a sense of total absurdity) for Norman Greenbaum

The secret word is Future