I hooked up with #2 son this afternoon. We ate solids and drank caffeinated and alcoholic beverages, as is common in proper families. He let it slip, quite early on, that he’s in a band – of which I had no idea.
I suppose normally when one’s offspring drop a bombshell over coffee, it’s traditional for said bombshell to involve homosexuality- or at least a few dead nurses. Not in our whacky, zany gene-pool!
He let me hear a tune they’d recorded, which I was hellish impressed by. In fact, the only thing wrNog with this picture is that, somewhere along the line, I seem to have mutated into Les McQueen from ‘the league of gentlemen’.
‘it’s a fookin’ shit business – I’m glad I got out when I did… we were rooners-oop in ‘a song for Europe’, 1976… Creme Brulee, we was called…”
Coping with this ok?
Why not check out my novel, “1919 (inside)” available from smashwords?
Doing for relationships what the moors murderers did for jazz funk.