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  • For christmas my family got me a drum.
    An african drum.
    And drumming lessons.
    African drumming lessons.
    Whenever I am at a festival and I see these groups doing these drumming things I look at them with complete contempt.
    My family must have misconstrued my contemptuousness for admiration or envy.
    Now I have 8 Thursdays of drumming lessons.
    And a fucking drum.

  • If we are dredging I want to know how the weeks of African drumming lessons went.

    (See previous page)

  • Me too, I have little drummer boy going through my head now.

  • Unsurprisingly the course got cancelled because there was no other interest.
    They were going to run another one and let me know but I never heard from them again.
    That was a bit of a blessing.
    My family got a refund and bought me a bottle of I assume really nice whisky with it. I had given up alcohol a while before so I still have that for guests and emergencies.
    It remains unopened as I have had neither.
    Still have the drum. I use it as an ornament and conversation piece.
    In a strange twist I joined a samba band for a few days in the XR rebellion in April. There I discovered I have absolutely no sense of rhythm or timing.
    I won't be doing that again.
    This year they got me a pair of Jeans. Terrible things to cycle in though.

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