Dear Diary,
So I played on the street, confidently, yet in my own little bubble, withdrawn, to my happy place, then ... I went to the centre of the beach-front. Played the piano. The guitar. Then left graciously. Aye. T'was nice to have a reasonably large, and most definitely appreciative audience for once. Aye. Though racked with nerves beforehand, I was ... On the Flex.
I knocked 'em dead with my regular set: The Train Song by Tom Waites - tinkling the ivories - followed by The Ballad of Curtis Lœwe, on the slide-Flex, playing "Juicy-Lucy" {my guitar that cost a tenner} and for the grand finalé I hit 'em with the U.S. Male.
Then home, tea, a faire la rapport sexuale, avec mon amour. I never did end up paying the tithe somehow, a bottle of ale, some smokes, sea, sunshine, well: you know the rest,
Stay On the Flex,
Maxen.
