It’s been a whole week since the last update — the longest hiatus since we started our journey together way back in March or April or whenever it was. Not that there’s been much of note going on at Corner Cottage: it’s more that there’s been a lot of very little.

But today something very Braidwoodian happened, and there was also just enough time to get sufficient pieces in place to report on it here. That thing was unexpected and somewhat exciting, and brought something novel to the streets of our town: a rock band!

And not just a band, but a band playing outdoors. In Wallace Street. Outside the Farmers’ Market! It had everything you need for your basic power trio: drums, bass, guitar. No frills: no wussy keyboards or strings, but also no vocals, doo-wop girls or brass sections, all of which invariably make for a top-notch rock, rhythm-‘n-blues or soul combo.

Hey man — I’ve been there. I speak from experience. In London way back when, a few of us Zimbo exiles conspired to form a kind of loose, let’s-get-together-and-jam band which majored in lengthy distorted covers of real bands’ songs. Beer featured prominently when it came to creative juices; there was a lot of talk between songs; there were frequent ‘musical differences’.

I was there by virtue of owning a majority share of the equipment, as well as my own guitar. Musically, I was not a necessity — put it this way: the drummer was a better guitarist than me and the lead guitarist was a better singer. But sing and play I did — and have seldom had a better time . . . although, as so often when powerful creative energies come together, our star burned but briefly and our musical differences soon compelled us to seek solo careers.

Anyway, enough about me. Today’s band had a much bigger audience than we ever attracted, numbering at its height at least a dozen. It comprised a truly diverse cross-section of Braidwood society, from a rainbow-haired punk to several ageing hippies and a fair sprinkling of leather-clad bikers. There were also little girls capering in the sunshine and that rarest of beasts in the wild, a dad dancer.

Although, ever the critic, I’d point out that this performance was a little too athletic and indeed stylish to constitute true dad-dancing. Coincidentally, a consummate exponent of the art is much in the news of late.

There’s a joke in there somewhere about popping and locking him up, but as we all know, this blog eschews politics, so let’s move on.

There’s something special about live music. It draws you in like the canned kind just can’t — the fact it’s being made right there in real time makes it organic and full of life. And if it’s being done outdoors on a sunny day, with children and families moved to bust a few moves, so much the better. Frankly, we all need a little bit of the old food of love when it’s offered these days. Keep rockin’ in the free world, muso types!