hen gins her grieued ghost thus to lament and mourne.

Hendrix is hilarious, as ever, explaining new song Izabella is “about a cat, blah blah, woof woof …” It’s a real shame they wouldn’t keep this lineup together. Hendrix repeatedly comments on the “patience” of the crowd. He plays the national anthem, his guitar dive-bombs at the end of Hey Joe and, that’s your lot. The applause dies away surprisingly quickly.

One is a gifted maiden poetess (I am certain she is a gifted maiden poetess), whose squabness of contour, sharpness and redness of nose, and general forty-fiveness of aspect, a little mars the romantic effect of the oleanders which she loves to stick in her hair.

The attributes of the most important deities of our distant ancestors, Tiw, Woden, and Thunor, whose names are perpetuated in those of three of our weekdays, are by no means clearly defined. It is not to be assumed that Woden and Thunor were identical with the Norse Odin and Thor, about whom more is known.