The end of the Jones saga, a made-for-tv mini-drama starring country music’s royal couple, George and Tammy. The Amplifier, a NYT email subscription curated by Lindsay Zoladz (who?, I know, gramps. She’s young, a newcomer) had a retrospective on Mrs. Jones recently that you should read or, perhaps if you can’t get beyond the paywall, try her Spotify playlist. I read it, but didn’t listen, because too busy. And, to be truthful? I’m not that fond of Mr. Jones’s music. Tammy Mrs. Jones, is somewhat more tolerable, but same problem. Small doses. That’s why I think you’ll like this song. Short, cute, country, and totally on point. Folks have been making fun of “the elites” for a long time, don’t be fooled, kids. That’s an old country tune.

I’m not a Simple Minds fan, but some of their hits I like. This is definitely one of them. It’s cinematic (Breakfast Club), orchestral, grand, really over-the-top, but his voice is right in my range and I love singing along with it. Loudly. According to Wikipedia, James Kerr, the lead singer, lives in Taormina, Sicily, where he owns the hotel Villa Angela, which I stumbled on accidentally one time when I was researching lodging there. It’s quite beautiful.

That’s it. As the photo hints, I’m packing up for a week to the USA. I love to travel, but I hate long flights, particularly this one. It’s become so dehumanising and full of paranoia and ranking behaviour. “Oh, you didn’t pay the extra €35? You’re in Group C, oh, no, sorry. . . D. Back of the line, old man.” I really hate it. But I’ll put on a smile, try to breathe through my nicotine Jones in my FFP2NR mask, relax and enjoy the break. I really need it.

Later.