Post-apocalypse

The Saturday night of Rhythms was a late one for me – my friend went home at obscene o’clock in the morning, and I walked off the last of the alcohol in my system ambling into town. And oh my god…

SO much rubbish strewn around it looked like people had just been incinerated where they stood, leaving only whatever they’d been holding at the time. Pigeons picked among broken glass for titbits, strangely avoiding the glaringly obvious and available piles of takeaway trash. That’s quite a comment on the quality of the food that a broken Budweiser bottle (of all the lagers to choose) holds more appeal…

ROTW weekend did result in a couple of pounds’ worth of coppers and silver however, but I may have missed far far more because there was an infinite amount of detritus to draw the eye.

I’m told actually that Rhythms even warranted a front page story of a Sidney newspaper in Australia. That’s quite some reach…but then, leaving aside the unfortunate aftermath, it’s a great occasion.

I didn’t point out to the bizarre elderly preacher I encountered later in the week that the apocalypse he was confidently and threateningly announcing had in fact already taken place. Funny though isn’t it how you tell a chap politely that he’d be wasting his time talking to you, but he persists, asks questions, and when you wrongfoot and outargue him he resorts to sarcasm and insult. Hell hath no fury like a Christian scorned it appears…

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