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This one got moved indoors - it was coldish, wettish and somewhat windswept. And the outside wasn't much better. Oh well..

So, a full jury turned up, hell bent on desecrating the standards. And set to it with a will. Just as we were turning the bemused (startled?) regulars industrially deaf, the thirteenth jammer, Huich, rocked up, fiddle at the ready, and ruined my opening metaphor.. so, the last supper, anyone? Jesus, I hope not, that must be next week, when the Notoriously Unreliable Pre-Christmas Jam lays waste to any remnant hope we might have had of producing some musical excellence this year...

But, of course, I digress, or more precisely, when is the Extra 3 B Reserve Copyboy, last bastion of Bendigo Towers, going to mention the music?

Music? Not yet, I am still recovering from the shock of hearing Little Sunflower mangled for only eight and a half minutes: surely this should run until the audience awakens refreshed. Put a smile on the Mad Captain's dial anway.

The Wine Centre seemed a little messy, and quite a bit noisy all arvo, during which I managed to make two emergency runs to Chateau Emilton, and ended the day with four sustain pedals of which only two worked, but thankfully enough to persuade the elegant Mr Curtis (piano) to show us how it should be done.

Aneta probably the pick of the day, anxious to be off for another trip to the Shaky Isles. We are starting to feel sorry for her family... newcomer William, all the way from Devon, played some fine trumpet, professing a surfeit of rust in the works but sounding good. Moanin'.

Simon played some solid bass, and Ashley, sang a bunch of swing toons, but only because he forgot to ask for latin. Neat anyways. And Huich either put on a cunning imitation of a musician, or played some pretty fine violin. The latter, I think.

Guitars: Dean showed he can carry/comp a toon and almost no one complained that he was too quiet. Mike Powell scorched his way through a straight Blues solo, earning applause from the regulars, and Neville quietly stole the show.

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