A very early mother-in-law in the Saxon swamps took her daughter to the Betty Mahmoody Evil Muslims flick and at the end asked her, tears welling in her eyes, “Has he asked you to go to England?” To which she replied, “Mum, I’m not pregnant.”
This wonderful lady it was who decided after 50 years to have a weekend away from her natal village but awoke on Saturday morning in great psychic distress because she couldn’t hear her familiar soundscape of church bells. So the whole party upped and returned.
But the motif seems to nag at MILs to barbarians in general, and the latest splendid example has just concluded that, rather than perhaps needing a proper job, a car, or a wardrobe of suits, I should … fly some more.
It occurred to me late yesterday that I have been doing very little else for quite a long time. So, rather than succumbing to a case of Flow my Dowlands, here, courtesy of Audacity and my Skype headset, are the MP3 and lyrics of a little ditty from the depths of the night.
- Thanks to Vodafone I’m still without internet at home a month after requesting it, so the story progresses more according to the rhymes occurring most rapidly to an unconnected brain than to any logical or factual imperative.
- Quite a lot of tunes choose to scull the waters of my brain, and while I believe everything I produce is sufficiently original, fear preys that Google will eventually out. There must be a word for this.
- The Singing Organ-Grinder’s top 10 pig songs
Sincerity meets spam.
- From Charles Trenet, two musical De Gaulle anecdotes
Re the songs, L’âme des poètes and Douce France.
- Mole models in Cervantes
From saviour to saved to savoury: the de-/remystification of bodily imperfection.
A new translation of Joan Maragall’s poem about the anarchist bombing of the Barcelona Opera in 1893, and a limerick by
- I changed my name
“Barcelona, Londres y Tilligte” no cabía en la tarjeta de visita. / “Barcelona, London and Tilligte” didn’t fit on my business