|This image is free for use.|
Dogsbody took the photograph.
We missed you, Conor.
Paul, in the chair, opened with a traditional (!) song because, yes, it is The Week Before Easter.
(Such date being subject to clarification by the ecclesiastic authorities who determine these things.)
Meanwhile, Dogsbody fumbled with his buttons ...
|No change there, then!|
Sylvia, declining to take life easy, stumbled on little snow-white feet ...
Andrew sang about a train in anticipation of illumination...
|We hope that light is not a train coming the other way.|
Angela sang in hope of remembrance ...
|Send my love ...|
Elayne gave account of a sick, (suicidal?) bird ...
|Was it something you ate?|
Perhaps it was that tough little worm in your inside?
Benign banter led us to consider the meaning of the following terms:
- al coda
We concluded in ignorance.
It is patently clear that few of us actually know what we are doing
... and Berry, (he who is conversant about such things,) wasn't there to educate us!
Neither was Ken.
Lynda recalled the Easter Rising in Dublin in 1916 ...
|It was better to die 'neath an Irish sky ...|
There was a near-domestic incident ...
|"This is in the key of D," says Max.|
"No, it's in E," argues Sylvia.
"No, your'e wrong ... D!"
"No ... it's E!"
Max eventually concedes the point.
We ended on a mournful note ...
|... in that cold, lonely churcyard where she sleeps 'neath the dew.|
Emotional continence was rapidly restored, so we went home ...