I often wonder about people who complain all the time. You know, the kind of people to whom you say, 'How's it going?' and their reply is, 'Not so good,' or something of the sort. It's my belief that it's down to us to make our own happiness.

As such, I am a blissfully contented man. Take last night, for example. Just another little gig, with my great friend Paul Evans. A small stage in the corner of a bar. A gathering of locals who didn't know who we were. The complainers would say, 'Why do you play these places?' and always make sure to add the vital valuer-of-all-occasions: 'How much are you being paid?'

In answer to the latter: not enough to write home about. And to the first question? It makes no difference where I play. Last night being no exception. I get to work with some amazingly talented people, who I am privileged to have as friends. To sit for three hours, playing songs that you love, with an almost telepathic understanding of each other's playing; instinctively shifting dynamics and moving songs in constantly different directions; never getting in the way of one another, smiling when your friend plays a blinding solo, knowing looks at seamless segue ways and tight endings; to be able to bring an audience into this amazing zone for even a short while. And then to talk with people who genuinely appreciate live music: all of these things make me realise that I live a charmed life. I may be broke, but I am richly satisfied.