t is hard to write snappy prose when your fingers do not wish to snap. It is harder still to whistle a happy tune when you have two dispirited lips. But, for the time being, let us just say that Fred Buckley, His Lordship's first born son, a sweet, gentle and adventurous chap has taken his leave of this satellite and made his way to that great jazz joint tucked away at the back of the third alley to the left as you enter the Pearly Gates. He will, no doubt, have a ring side seat for the main show. And you just know that all those wild cats and kitties have been waiting for him to make the scene. Now they can all show to blow together solid style. Are you there?
An appreciation of HRH Fred Buckley will follow shortly.