Playing the cards you're dealt

Addictive

I drove down to London on Saturday morning pretty much on auto-pilot. I wasn't feeling 100% - and that's putting it mildly. The rain was torrential; biblical, almost. I pulled in at Cherwell Valley Services for breakfast. The coffee saved me. It made me almost human again. And the rain stopped.

"Is there a brew pending?"

When I got to my favourite sister in law's*, I was almost feeling a five, if not a six, on a scale of 1 to 10. Instead of cracking open the bubbly, I was more than happy with a pot of tea and 40 winks. When I woke up the Prof was telling me all about the ales he'd bought in - specially for me. "Tea will be fine, David." He looked crestfallen. "Who's going to drink all this beer?" "Sorry Prof, start the party without me." That's when he knew I wasn't faking it.

But it was OK. We didn't leave the house once - and it was still OK. We played cards. And board games. And more cards. And I drank gallons of tea - while everyone else drank fizz, and gin. I know what you're thinking, this isn't his usual No Sleep Till Hammersmith hedonistic weekend. And you'd be right. But needs must.

However, I came home cleansed and, here's the thing, with a passion for Sequence. I'd never heard of it before Saturday and now I'm addicted. I ordered a copy on Amazon while I was down there. Should be here tomorrow. Those winter evenings are going to fly by...

You'll be pleased to know normal service has been resumed. My rock and roll lifestyle - such that it is - has been rebooted.

* Megan knows how to fix me: Saturday's evening meal (and Sunday lunch too) both had her to die for homemade custard on the menu. A throwback to when I was freelancing in London a few years ago and lived with Megan and David for three months.

You Can't Get What You Want (Till You Know What You Want)

Don't forget the Joker

Another gig for 2019 - Joe Jackson is going on the road with his Four Decade Tour. He's pulling tracks from just five of his albums spanning, that's right, four decades, including Look Sharp (1979) and Night & Day (1982).

I've been a huge fan right from the get go, and have seen him live countless times. He's only playing a handful of gigs in the UK, but it's the two nights at Amsterdam's Paradiso Club that I've got my eye on. I'm very excited. Who wants to come with me?

Joe Jackson - You Can't Get What You Want (Till You Know What You Want) (1984)

Don't forget the Joker(s)

My dad knows one card trick. He's very proud of it. He'll shuffle a complete deck of cards, offer you them face down and ask you to pick a card, any card. He will then proceed to tell you which card you've just picked. 'The Joker', he'll say, smilingly. And, sure enough, it is the Joker. However, considering this pack comprises fifty-two Jokers, it's hardly magic. But it keeps my dad amused.

I'd like to think Lemmy would have liked it too.

Lemmy: b. 24 December 1945, d. 28 December 2015

The only creed you need

You may have a personal creed. Or you may not. You may well wing it most of the time - I know I do. And just when you think things should be wrapped up nicely and everything in its place, you find life still throws bouncers in your general direction. Thankfully, most of them whistle by your ears without actually making contact. Most of them. I'm hoping one day things will start to settle down. Or, maybe, this is how it's meant to be. Who knows? All I do know is - don't be reckless with other people's hearts, and don't put up with people that are reckless with yours. It's the only creed you need.

Bridging the gap

Nick Lowe, not Gordon Medd

Dad's up with us again for a few days. Oil and tyre pressures would have been checked yesterday morning before the wing mirrors were positioned and driving gloves put on. And a new PB of under two hours was set. It really is a good job that there are no fixed speed cameras in this part of the world.

I look forward to him coming up and enjoy his company; since losing mum, I look forward to our conversations which, by turn, are gradually becoming more and more wistful. He's more open than he ever used to be and we seem to have reached that point, on a number of issues, where we each know that nothing more needs to be said - we have an understanding.

Before we went out last night for a couple of beers and a bite to eat, we played cards. Mum and dad were always inveterate card players and they taught me and my brother all sorts of card games from when we were old enough to count. It was while we were playing a few hands late yesterday afternoon that he dropped into conversation something I'd never even thought about before. After mum died he can't play bridge. Or rather, he can (obviously the rules of the game haven't been wiped from his brain), but not without a partner who can second guess how he will bid and lead and all the other complexities and subtleties that make Bridge Bridge. Mum knew what he was thinking. She probably knew him better than he knows himself. How do you replace that? You can't. But dad's readjusting. He's moving away from being someone who always had a life partner on hand to tell him what to do next, to someone who can work it out for himself thank you very much. He's bridging the gap.