Local bubble...

Mrs Scroblene and Scrobs were invited to a chum's house recently, for a few sherberts and prawn things It was a delightful evening, with several friends chatting in the lovely garden, and refills occurring at regular intervals.

Since I left the business networking circuits to their own devices, I sort of approach meeting people differently now. There is no pressure for a 'result', (i.e. a chance to get some business), I can be at ease with whatever subject crops up, and, better still, I have Mrs Scroblene to bounce discussions off at will, whereas in the past, I had to think for myself, which is unnerving after three bottles in Finos!

On this occasion, the glasses were full, the smoked salmon flying around, and all was well. But Mrs Scroblene, later on, told me that she had experienced what I occasionally had to put up with back in the smoky wine bars. (No not a groper...)!

It was the 'person who stands too close'! (A lady chum this time).

We've known - let's call her Dagmar - for years, but whenever we've seen her, she is wrestling with unruly dogs, which always cause JRT to raise her hackles and show various teeth, so all our discussions have been at a distance of several yards. We like Dagmar, she's very articulate and good looking - even across a busy road at dog-lead-length, with a gorgeous daughter who recently got married, so she seems to play by the rules as well.

But Dagmar wanted to talk at length to Mrs Scroblene and others, and every time she did, she stepped closer for some reason, and Mrs Scroblene had to step back. Her space had been invaded, I nearly had to rescue her from a flower bed next door, and it was unusual to realise that this sort of thing still happens! One's 'bubble' is endangered, and even if the invader is an old chum, it's still not a social grace is it!

There used to be a bloke on the circuit in London, who got so close - with everyone - that he was feared in case he actually managed to get behind you by sort of morphing through you, so you'd have to carry on the conversation through the back of your head!

Anyway, all was well after the bubble was restored and Dagmar went off to stand on someone else's toes and bellow instructions...

Birthday musings...

It's my birthday tomorrow, and I will be sixty-eight!

It's a funny decade, the sixties; you really wonder at some stages how you got this far, and if you'd carried on smoking, might you still be here? Possibly not after a dreadful pipe-smoking habit!

Is an active retirement going well (yes), but if we'd moved to a smaller place, would we still have the same interests without a garden and an allotment which demand constant attention? Definitely no!

Is smugness setting in? Not really, but then maybe we've been lucky - I definitely have!

Do I miss getting out on the circuit to meet business chums? Only after considering the first bottle, from then on, it became a bit of a lottery on what was achieved...

I suppose most posters here are younger, so will have all these questions to face themselves, but I think even getting to sixty-eight is some sort of achievement, so thank you, someone...

Tunisia yarn...

Well, there we was, 'aving a great toime wiv some mates, an' then some bloke from the Embassy said we should pack our bags an' go 'ome!

Whaaaat!

We've only juss' go'  ere' and nobody told us that vere wos a problem!

Whoy weren't we towld...!

Oi mean, know what oi mean, whaaa......

R.I.P. Chris Squire...

http://www.express.co.uk/news/showbiz/587525/Yes-guitarist-Chris-Squire-dead-aged-67

What a great bass player, and only 67 - my age...

Yes pushed so many boundaries, and his method of chunking great waves of large bass notes - even trills - into the other bits they all made up, was/is a revelation for proper prog-rock.

What a shame to pop off so young, and I'll listen to all his stuff again now, for just a great memory of a fabulous musician.

Going for the one 

Still an absolute favourite song.

Monumental decision...

Scrobs, after much soul-searching for at least seven seconds, has decided not to go to Syria, because Russell Brand says he would go there if he could fly first class!

What an arsehole!