Sunday evening feeling...

Hey porter come and cut me free,
I'm sick of my own company.
Sometimes I miss the gold,
Most times I miss my home.

There are several ways to stave off the dreaded feeling of the hours rapidly disappearing as the start of another week looms. But in these crunchy credit days, when the cost of ooodles of booze and other mind-numbing substances might well be too prohibitive, music can help us deal with the stomach churning and mental anguish of it all. So, in the first of what could well be a never-ending Sunday evening series, I will be presenting you with the tunes that, ahem, get me through this potentially doom-laden night, and ensure that Sunday evenings are for me, rather than for worrying about what may or may not happen on the other side of it. There will, I wager, be a large proportion of maudlin grooves, for which I apologise in advance to those that would rather crave, say, a Chas 'n' Dave knees up before they settle down to Songs of Praise. All of the tunes I select will really mean something to me, although I probably won't get into exactly what that might be. And I'd urge you all to head to your favourite online retailer and buy all of 'em. Anyway, lets kick off with dead-too-soon guitarist Tommy Bolin and his most excellent song Wild Dogs...



Curious? Get the lyrics to Tommy Bolin's Wild Dogs here or get jiggy with his Wiki.