Hob-nobbing

The last day of our festival and so much to squeeze in. Firstly Mr Air-Cond man came and filled up the unit in the car - why didn’t I get that done two summers ago? Then a spin over to Porty to take my kiltie gear to the son - he has a Danish wedding to attend next month so will obviously be going as an exotic.
Then up town to meet Messrs T & W to see Charlie Wood - the celebrated blues pianist doing a brief history of the blues to a dozen people. Hey, he’d played with Albert King. And had a residency on Beale Street. Afterwards we briefly chewed the fat. I shall look out for his name on the pavement in Memphis. Oh yes. 
On to Summerhall and who arrived at our table but McDowell, the head honcho! In his Joseph Beuys hat. What good company he is, though he seems to know everything about everything. Which is due to him leading the conversation in his direction of course. As top dogs are wont to do.
This made us a bit late for Wendy’s film (OK we missed it) and session with Demarco - we ended being ushered by MrT into an excruciating discussion about the said unseen film where Demarco enlarged on his pet hates, as ever. He reminds me of someone. Oh, it’s me.