From the Mail

And in the said mail this morning was a catalogue.  (You thought this was going to be some sort of political commentary, didn't you.  Or about divorced and remarried deaconesses receiving communion or something.  Well it isn't.)

Not just any catalogue, either.  A  J.Peterman catalogue. And after all these years.  You'll be delighted to know it's still a great read.  I always enjoyed those things but I thought J.P. went belly-up years ago.   And yet here a new catalogue is in my mailbox.  A short search reveals that according to Wikipedia - which you can read for yourself here -- J.P. did go bust.  Not once but twice.  Yet phoenix-like, here it is back again with a new catalogue.

Not that I'll ever actually buy anything from it.  A hundred bucks or so for a short sleeve shirt?  That'll be the day.  But I do hope J.P. has loads of customers with far more cash than this impecunious musician and pensioned-off scribbler.  The J.Peterman catalogue is more fun than anything else the postman is likely to bring me.