Yesterday ended on a high note

Tina and I went to the Jazz Club last night. Yeah, man, we're cool cats.

Now you're picturing a dark, smoke-filled cellar? Think again. Think: someone's extended living-room complete with peach anaglypta wallpaper. And this is 'Wales' Premier Jazz Venue'.

It was very crowded with grey-haired, old gents in shirts and ties, beautifully-coiffed middle-aged woman in stilettos and furs and trendy students. I wonder if you would see such a mixture of people at any other music event; I doubt it.

The band, Solid Airbag Berlin, consisting of three Russians and a Welshman, played Jazz Funk (apparently). They were good for the first half but started sounding a bit sameish in the second. But it was good to be out and forget about cars and plumbers and other mishaps.

We talked about flirting. I am not sure if I know what it is. I wouldn't know if someone was flirting with me or if I were flirting myself.

I have heard women on the phone to some men and their voices change; actually I do that myself. But is that flirting or playing a role? I am happy to play the role of stereotypical woman when it suits me - oh, dear, am I really driving the wrong way down a one-way street? Silly me, but what can you expect of a woman, Mr Traffic Warden? The Sisterhood would be turning in their bras if they hadn't burned them.

(You see, Mr Traffic Warden, from where I joined the road it wasn't absolutely clear that it was one-way. No, I won't do it again, sir.)

Tina pointed out that the problem is often in other people's minds when they see a man and a woman working in close proximity. 'Liz and Alun share an office and get on well, therefore ...' Ha ha ha ho ho heee, ha ha ha, hee ho ho ho ho ha ha ha he ho he ho he ho ha ha ho ho ho ha ha ha hee hee hee ho ho ha he ho he ha, oh, stop, my side's splitting.