One of the greatest joys of a life full with young grads and undergrads, together with a house in France and a car big enough to cart shed loads of guitars, amps and drums backwards and forwards across the English Channel via blessed saint Brittany Ferries, is this -->
Said grads/undergrads idling about all week, sleeping late and only rising to stagger into the garden via the fridge (thank you, Cora) to collapse into deck chairs and onto rugs with barely sufficient energy to spray on the factor 50 before mum carries out a loaded tray. Jugs, glasses, ice cubes and Vico chips. Happy, happy days. Happy, happy Amalee.
But Friday night is barbe night. "Now darlings, I know you're all exhausted, but I'd really like to hear you play." This is mum's speak for, "I'd like to see some evidence of the offensive amounts of cash that over the years I've poured into the pockets of your music teachers. And your sweethearts had better rosen up the bow too..." They didn't disappoint.
Guns N' Roses Sweet Child of Mine with mercy boo wearing her trademark top hat in adulation of Slash. Well that certainly woke up the neighbours...
Eric. Layla. The long version. Only ever heard on Planet Rock.
Top Gun anthem Steve Stevens (played for Billy Idol - need I say any more?)
Greenday Holiday. Ok that's six, so stop counting, Rain Man.
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