I think I am learning to 'precis' down a little as life moves on chugging away like one of those fat little tug boats on the Thames. Or, occasionally a sleek white motor vessel at St Tropez, and at its not so good moments, a small badly-painted dingy, half submerged in a tidal stream near Skegness.
There is something very satisfying in working out which projects are really the important ones, shedding the try-outs, the ones that are lurking in the brain's cellar. These need to go to the tip.
The DJ one was good for a while, then I became a bit . . . old. Not in a 'cool' sense; there are lots of old hairy DJ's out there spinning with hyper-coolness, but old as in my ears started ringing alarmingly, and it would take two days to recover after a wedding do.
The last one we did finished at 3am; the very inebriated bride fell over and broke her arm, and the groom asked us to carry on while they went to casualty in Carcassonne.
So, anyway, with some great memories of parties, and the satisfaction that I can 'beat match' pretty well now, I hang up the headphones. Some guy is supposed to be buying the stuff but he seems to have gone a bit wobbly due to the exchange rate . . . SO, if anyone wants to become the local DJ, mail me a letter, roll over Beethoven.
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