Up the hill and down two blocks to the Pinsent for a final festival drink. Vodka and Tonic in a tall glass. Listening to Zac Hurran and friends on the stage, jamming... calling for a drummer, a bass player... a quick chat to Eugene Ball... a strange conversation with a nervous young trumpeter who we eventually convinced to get up on stage and give it a go (he did, and he did)...
Hellos and smiles with people from the scene... thinking about the conversations that I meant to have and didn't quite get to; thinking about the music I heard and the music I didn't.
The Pinsent on Saturday night is an institution within the institution, but it is for those with stronger constitution than I have. I can do Sunday night though, when I'm not ready to go to bed and say goodbye to it all, just yet.
Working my way to the door... a smile to that group in the corner, a kiss blown here, a grimace there, ducking to avoid being seen by so-and-so... (yes, that happens too!)
And out into the cool damp air...
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