The equation

There are moments when I do think I've got it wrong.

It's a balance. Life's pretty much a compromise from the moment you're born. I know some would disagree, but of those that I know that perhaps might, I'm sure they'd respect my view even as I'd respect theirs. I'd even admit I might be wrong. Not actually sure they would.

But anyway, I've so far spent my life finding the easy spot to sit on the wind, the line of least resistance. At least so long as it's taking me somewhere towards where I think I want to be. I don't mind a scrap, I've had a few, where it mattered, where a line was crossed, but I've always had a (albeit sometimes only instinctive) talent for picking my fights.

I think I am cursed with unmitigated loyalty to those I call my friends. My own. My people.

And they are diverse. As it seems is my loyalty.

Well. Some would call it cursed. But not me, I think.

I think life works itself out as it should. It's not so much fate, as unintentional manufacture. We are each a wonderful equation. We can't help but find our balance.


I have a gig tomorrow night. First in bloody ages. Well, a month; but that's a veritable fast by our standards. I can't wait to break it.

We've only managed one rehearsal since the last gig, which, to be fair, is one more than normal. But we don't normally weather a whole month without playing. Which is just as well, as we are crap at rehearsals.

Bottom line is that tomorrow night I shall probably forget a fair few words, and possibly, but less noticeably, as many or more chords. But I don't really care.

The gig isn't about the words or the chords. It's about the song.

It is a balance. And every balance needs compromise. So judge it by the song.

This is far from done. But when it is, I think as long as I still have the perspective to do that, then I'll be content.

Maudlin: it's Friday night, and an empty bottle of white wine sits aside me, which possibly accounts for the frame of mind. At least this time we're coherent.

Tonight Nik cooked us supper, possibly for the first time this week; it's been that kind of a week, we've each been all over the place. But she did ask me to slice up the pork tenderloin for the stir-fry.

Which I happily did. I'm fond of sharp knives. But between my saying it was done and her putting it in the wok, it seems Lilly did the unthinkable and jumped up and helped herself to the entire portion of meat.

By way of mitigation, Nik found some "Farm Foods" frozen "Kabab Meat" in the freezer which she used instead.

I will forever defend both my wife's cooking and judgement with my life. But there are some fights you are destined to lose.

Please folks, never, ever mix kabab meat, frozen or otherwise, with noodles, chopped veg and bean sprouts.

And please folks, never tell her I wrote this. If she reads it for herself, sobeit, but until then, I shall take my chances.

I gig tomorrow, race the Ent on Sunday. Tides and timings curtail our time with Calstar for now, though Dad might go down to check on her tomorrow.

Have a great weekend everybody. Wherever you are, whatever you hope to do.