Matariki.

 Today is a public holiday. I'm sure that Father Sorecock would have had something to say about that.

"A day of no work, where cleaners get out their guns to hide in fantasies that tell us much. To the north they think of hitting things, like balls. And, yes, the sun is out. Some will have to play music tomorrow, let's hope there are no guns." Father Sorecock

Father Sorecock sounds like a very wise man. I wonder how he got his surname? Did he come from a family of people whose menfolk frequently hurt their cock? Cochem, Woodcock, why do so many Catholic priests have 'cock' in their name? It's sort of like God is trying to warn us of something.

Tomorrow, I have to talk about how to construct an instrumental original composition on my violin - no backing tracks obviously. It is evidently a session for young people who want to write songs, or music. I suspect that I am entirely the wrong person for the job, though a poet and some song writers are also speaking. What can I do but just do my thing? I've actually put a lot of time into practising and planning for it. Maybe some adults might enjoy it? Teenagers? I don't think so. Hey, but it has got to be done.

Then I'm playing solo violin (with backing tracks this time) outside for half an hour. My mate Wade, and his singer, are playing straight after me. It'll be good to 'have a blow', as we say in Jazz. Or, hang on, are they playing before me. Oh well, we'll find out tomorrow.

Robert chuckles.

Ciao tutti.