Sharon Feinstein

Ok granted. I’m not  as talented or famous as Frank’s other employer, Amy W, but at least I turn up for sessions and only drink after he’s gone. Learning the sax is such a wonderful thing especially when you have an inspired teacher who can play the instrument like Charlie Parker, never bullies me, in fact says Well Done a lot of the time.
I’m on Summertime, a great tune to play on a balmy evening with all the windows open.And because things are rather icy between my neighbours – the vicar and his wife – and I right now, I’m opening the windows even wider, and its minor scales and pentatonics for a whole hour. The cold war is because of a certain tree which I wanted thinned to let sunshine into my garden and they definitely didn’t, preferring the gloomy semi-darkness of thick overhanging branches, as if we don’t get enough gloom in this country we have to fight each other for more.Well – hurrah – its been thinned now by three hunky chaps, and suddenly it really is summer time in my garden. I’m also thinking about how frequently and casually we hop on and off planes, as I try to stop my imagination going wild around those 228 tragic passengers on the doomed Air france flight, all those spinning thoughts about what their terrible final minutes may have been like.

There might be a new diet in this, though bear in mind she’s deathly pale and looks exhausted.
The secret info on DJ Sam Ronson, of Lohan Ronson couple fame, is that she’s ordered 12 packets of cheesie wotsits as her sustenance for the long night behind the turntable at Cafe de Paris this Saturday.
At 95 calories a packet that’s a hefty 1140, washed down by her favourite Corona beer.
Her family, on the other hand,  who will be sitting at a table behind her, are being offered proper food, and of course Laurent Perrier.
I have spent the night on the river drinking a bottle of Fleurie and watching the lights coming on in buildings over the Thames, that bursting out of summer in June that feels so great in England.
Tomorrow we can discuss the sax, my wonderful teacher who is wasted on Amy Winehouse, and whether to leave the windows wide open when practising and drive the vicar and wife next door mad. (They deserve it and I’ll explain why)