Tonight we have a new band member; here from India, fresh from her trip to the top of the mountains. Fresh from her affair, of sorts, with the pale complexion and fast hands of the entirely feminine fiddle player.
The boss; he's been ravished and bewitched by her beautiful, brazen, bare faced emblazoned eyes, and her mantra, in four-eight time, interlaced with the bouncing bow of the fiddlers finger strings
The drone of it all is enchanting; Mark said that they played music from Get Carter. He thought it was shot in Doncaster, I thought on South Shields sands or thereabouts.
Yes, you said, that was the main body of it, only two or three scenes in South Yorkshire. Later we walk home, through the familiar passages; in the darkness. That time of year when the moon seems to take longer to turn.
I have been drinking Pale Rider, a beer with a lightness of sight and taste, and with its 5.2% strength it is a particular favourite.
Now the stereo plays I can't give you anything but love, a song from long, long ago by the Mills Brothers. I wonder if, with their bewitching smiles they told anyone of their well-sold intricate, intimate, anything but hidden affair
