It had been a strangely late morning kick off.

My Good Self eased out of the hay around nine bells.

The day was almost gone.

Be all that as It may, the magic boiler was soon in action, the tea was in hand and the guitar was doing its thing.

The first mug of Barrys brew had just been downed when the land blower started to make some noise.

Normally a very quiet and inoffensive chap, he was, all of a sudden and most unexpectedly, demanding attention.

On picking up the receiver and uttering a tentative greeting, who did I get wind of on the other end only The Man from Down Under.

It was good to hear from him again.

We chewed the fat for a while. He updated me on the current state of play in The Land of Kangaroos and Boomerangs. I gave him the low down on the Emerald Isle.

We then bid each other a fond adieu and agreed to catch up again soon.

As the day progressed it turned out to be quite the glorious afternoon again.

The balcony called.

I responded to that call.

And in no time at all I was catching a few rays, a glass of the Santa Helena Cabernet Sauvignon close at hand, a few of the old Pringle’s Sour cream & onion for an occasional change of flavour, with the fab Leonard Cohen to keep me company.

What more can a Guinness drinking, red wine guzzling classical guitarist possibly say?

Other than Bob was most definitely my uncle.

Martha was without doubt my aunt.

And that it was, absolutely, most comprehensively, all good.