Monday, March 21

ms. bean

I tend to feel a lot like Mr. Bean, the time that the Queen came to the . . . was it a theatre? I don't remember. It was very amusing. Only, being Mr. Bean, most of that stuff wouldn't really be amusing . . . until afterwards . . . :)

So yes, that is where I am now. I should go down and socialise but I am being remarkably rebellious and stalling for the space of about five minutes. Yes, my hands smell like cheese and pears and I am wearing wizard-slippers on my feet.

Shortly, I hope to see a post about France on SOMEone's blog . . . *coughs loudly* well, I suppose she won't write it while there is company around and WHY am I being so tiresome, here? On anstruther? I don't comprehend my complacent inanity.

I hope nobody RSSs this blog, it is dashed boring half the time.

And I must descend the stairs to my subjects. Excuse me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Pay no attention to the size of your audience. Pretend you're playing jazz piano to a small crowd in a smoky, dimly-lit club! An intimate setting to hear your work in. :)

The Geoff