How many times do I need to say, but oh how I enjoy seeing children giving concerts. I love hearing my offspring play music, on their own or in some organised ensemble. Plus, it also denotes the end of term. They play in some of town’s best venues. South Cambs is great for music tuition.

What have you ever promised yourself? What defining moments can you see in your head, every time, whether you close your eyes or not? How many people know this story? None, I think, not even Cassandra. A fleeting moment, and it was just that, but it did, afterwards, of course, make me resolve to never act in the same way again.

At several points recently, I have sat in meetings. One throwaway comment was made, a glib statement about one of us having to integrate ourselves in a certain way with one of them, and the final line being, aimed at me, Well, you can’t do it, what with your people skills. tsk Now, you see, I amn’t really fierce, I amn’t really stubborn, I amn’t really intolerant, I amn’t really aloof. I just play those at parties. I can do both diplomacy and bureaucracy exceedingly well, if I have to. I can play that game. However, most times I don’t see the need. I am sociable, hell, I talk to everyone and anyone. I have a reasonable level of wit with which I can use to interact during a conversation, I have a reasonable store of anecdotes (although not all are ever told, some choice ones only certain people know, and I forget they know) and, aside from my accent, rarely have to repeat myself more than twice. TWICE. Did you hear me? It is all about me, baby. Not a people person. I do like some people, you know. South Cambs is great for OCD types.

It happened a long, long time ago. It happened several lifetimes, and more cities, ago. It happened in an evening, walking through the city centre, at the start of the night, as I can still see the direction I was going, meaning I was heading in to town. It happened as I was walking on by, and there is the crux and the shame. It happened, and I didn’t stop it.

Being somewhat of a disliker of crowded places (there is a reason I choose not to live in any city, rather outside in a village), and not minding wandering on my own muttering to myself, I like walking Tycho. Of course, that means I amn’t on my own. And it isn’t as if I walk him on my own. Sometimes, post-dinner, Cassandra will join me. And at the weekends, the squawks charge alongside (no so much anymore) mental puppy dog. After one concert, however, it was heading towards midnight, so I did go on my own. The silver haze of late night mist, as seen through the sparsely-placed street lighting. The wheel of constellations above me. The few houses with lights still on, and all of human life is there, and I cannot unsee what I have sen with my eyes. Just me, and my dog, doing our two mile wander. In the misty, hazy, Lynch-ian gloom. South Cambs is great for not having many street lights.

It was the look in her eyes. Frightened, cowering, shivering in the doorway of some shop, under the glare of the fake-orange lighting. It was him, towering over, madness in his eyes, a hand raised. Not my business, domestic, besides, he is bigger than me, head down, walk on by. But it wasn’t that easy. For a second, less, a millisecond, not even that, her head lifted, our eyes connected. A plea, a tear, a crushed spirit. And I walked on.

I have, in my possession but not my ownership, a four-stringed instrument of quality. I have a DI box, which is connected to the mixer. I don’t have enough leads, but shall remedy that next week. Yes, yes, I could unplug the gee-tar of six strings and plug in the one of four. But you know, I prefer to not do that. Leave the cabling where it is. So a trip into evil shops next week. I also need one of those magic sensor cleaning pens for Amahlia. Looks like I will be spending money, although nothing there will come to more than fifteen quid, so I can stomach it. South Cambs is great for oddball shops.

I won’t ever again.

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