Teenage Joy

Well, I suppose it's teenage logic: smash glasses, a lamp and one of your mother's precious delft tiles. Leave piles of unwashed dishes, use up all the toilet roll, leave a kitchen chair out in the yard all night. When your mother mentions these small peccadilloes, SHOUT AS LOUD AS YOU CAN TO SHUT HER UP and SLAM THE DOOR!!!!

At least I had a lovely couple of days in beautiful Dumfries-shire at a hotel on the banks of the river Nith, with the calls of the eagles and small birds and big trees, spending the day playing guitar with a large group of mellow middle aged men (actually there were two of us middle aged women) and Martin's daughter, wearing the ends of my fingers to rags and eating big Scottish dinners in the evenings.
The highlight of this year's evening concert was a little girl who was a guest at the hotel, seeing all of us getting up in turn to play, and asking her mum to get her guitar so she could play too.
She played a little guitar exercise (50 seconds) and a one-verse song about spring (30 seconds), completely no-nonsense, with not a Simon-Cowell inspired I-want-this-so-much-I'll-die-if-I-don't-get-it hair on her head.
Now I'm tired and I have just eaten a totally disgusting Sainsbury's ready meal; I should've known better.
Sorry for the short posting. I am off to the land of nod, once I have stopped seething about the resident teenager!
I will leave you with Brian's joke.
'I was walking down the road and I came across a guy playing a didgeridoo. He was playing Dancing Queen, Waterloo and some other Abba songs.
I thought, well, that's aboriginal.'