For the second time in four days I found myself having a long and argumentative lunch. On Saturday it was climate change. Today it was comprehensive schooling. The punters in the Wet Fish Cafe looked on aghast as my pal and I turned purple with rage over pumpkin tortillas. We were reconciled by the polenta cake. But that was three hours later. Returning to the midden I banged off some emails before the progeny got home. We played Scrabble. Then my ma turned up and I was off for my second outing of the day. Asian fusion shorteats and martinis. At the swanky new diner down the road. The drinks were a triumph. I shall go there again:-) Afterwards my mate and I went to the Lower Ground Bar to hear a new trumpeter called Steve Fishwick. We'd been inivited by one of his fans. Who we found in a drug induced state, sitting with a celebrated academic and his bird. A woman I knew from eons ago. And would have crossed continents to avoid. Though I didn't actually recognise her. Until she hugged me as an old friend. Perhaps I hold grudges too long? There's something romantically retro about jazz nights. The red light strobing through the smoke haze, the cramped tables, the nodding heads... It was all so moody; so mellow. We could have been in New York or Bangalore. Though it would have been impossible, of course, to walk home in five minutes from either of those locations;-)