Wot, No Jam?

Last Sunday's jam was idyllic: nobody gossiped, everyone there let everybody else have a turn or three, we didn't play Autumn Leaves, or Summertime,  all the singers sang in tune, all the tunes were fresh, and the guitars were almost as restrained as the saxophones.... all the beers were on the house,  the barkeep didn't complain about the noise, everyone helped pack up the  gear that we used...

And all that, in the finest traditions of the Bendigo Heights Daily Drivel, is true.

So what, I hear you ask, has Madge from Altona been up to? Her daily routine remains unchanged, a catering pack of Winnies,  a goon bag or two, and a clip round the 'ear'ole for Rotten Ronnie Junior, should he be so forward as to stroll, unsaxophoned,  from the Madame Trixie La Belle Academe de Danse. Hortense, whilst keeping to herself,  can sense the building excitement of having a tunnel load of truckies thundering past her door any day now. Meanwhile, half the streets of St Kilda East have been named after the Mid Nineteenth Century Balkan conflicts, the Oscar Beetroot Band remains as unreformed as ever, if it ever was, and the stage at the Bairnsdale Working Men's club has been restyled as the Bairnsdale Centrelink Recreational Facility due to an influx of disgruntled loggers and laid off power station workers. Only the mullet and moccasin shop remains open, and is doing a roaring trade - and Madge, after the unfortunate incident, hasn't been asked back.