I'm Just A Singer In A Rock And Roll Band

Who the hell sang that song? Was it The Moody Blues? (Showing my age.) I’ll look it up later!

I remember going to see them when I was pregnant with my second baby. I took my mother because my husband had left me for some skank he worked with and moved to Queensland.

Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to be. Oh, I hated him by then. I used to go to bed and pray that he’d get killed while he was out drunk one night. My chances were reasonable; he was an awful drunk and was that way most of the time.

Oh well!

Life, as they say, moves on.

Bloody hell. Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to blog about!

Oh—that’s right. The band.

Apparently, I’ve got to practice; which I'm not great at... and some of us are still trying to remember which chord comes after C.

I thought being in a band involved turning up, playing a few songs and perhaps drinking something afterwards.

It does not.

There are songs to choose, chords to learn, rehearsals to organise, photographs to take, blogs to write, logos to design and people living thousands of kilometres apart who somehow need to sound as though they’re all in the same room.

It’s practically a full-time job—and nobody is paying me.

Still, after everything life has thrown at me, being in a slightly chaotic rock and roll band seems like a rather good place to have ended up.

Even if I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.