Singing to a Worthy Audience.

When there’s no one to amuse you

And no one to amuse

The urge to just amuse yourself

Can always be excused.

It’s warmer outside than it is in my house this evening, so I took my coffee and guitar out to the garden table and amused myself with a rendition of Mr Tambourine Man.

But... I had an audience! My little wild rabbit buddy sat through the whole thing stock still – didn’t even chew a blade of grass, bless him (or her.)

The last time I sang that song to somebody was thirteen years ago. Her name was Kate and she came from Montana. Enough said, I gather. And in case you’re wondering: no, I didn’t have a fling with her. She was young, attractive and intelligent (she was doing a post-grad course at a nearby university,) and her intentions were obvious enough. But that was the point. Too obvious. Too free. Dare I use the C word? I’ve never ‘associated’ with that sort of woman. No value in it.