Yup... still feelin kinda off-beam... :)) K xx

JIVIN WITH AUSTIN


The painter smiled his gap-tooth grin outside the kitchen window. “So are they your set of drums then?” He jerked his head in the direction of the music room and jiggled brushes in both hands to demonstrate. “You bet”, I replied, flicking my wrists in copycat fashion. “I’ve just reached Grade 6.” I don’t know why I lied – perhaps the devil made me do it. But all the rest of the day, the steady fingertip and flat-palm beat of congas laced its way through the looping spools of my veins, making me slope, shuffle or twitch. Even driving to the gym, my feet and hands engaged a terrific percussion solo, involving the entire width of the car and a rhythmic, pulsating head-banging. Later it was a Santana CD that was unconsciously picked and dragged from the back of the pile, as I sambad my way through cooking supper with cocktail-shaking aplomb. It’s strange how the body seems to know what it needs: the immune system responds well to sound. Tonight my bed will be thick with the taste of Angostura bitters, hot rum and the viscosity of fiery red blood pounding my soul. And tomorrow I’ll be better: it will be a ballet of strings.