If bakeries serve bread & sandwiches, and ouzeries serve alcohol with appropriate small snacks, then shouldn't a tapas bar be called a tapastry? And shouldn't this one be Baja Tapastry?

A new and exciting friend sent me a message on Saturday, she'd just been given two tickets to see From the Jam at Bedford's Corn Exchange supported by The Skids, would I like to join her?
Too Right I Would!
I figured it might not be the best of places to take my camera and so I left it at home. I shouldn't have. My friend gravitates towards the mosh pit, which I don't, but a genteel crowd of sexagenarians meant that the two of us could spend the entire evening leaning on the front rail right at the feet of the performers. So close in fact that I could see that Bruce Foxton's right thumbnail has grown thicker than a toenail after 50 years of strumming bass strings.
And then we went on to the after party which was tremendous fun. Again I wished I had had my camera with me when I spotted an amputee in a wheelchair wearing a fabulous hand-knitted sock on his stump – it was styled as a shark with lots of pointy white teeth, some beady eyes and a classic dorsal fin. That was an image I would have loved to have captured. I supposed it's the same line of thinking as wearing a mermaid tail in a wheelchair, just more blokey.