I am moved by Lady Percy 's expression of love. CLICK HERE - see if you agree.
Otherwise my novels, short stories, verse, family, music, memories, vulgar interests, detestations,
responses, apologies. I hold posts to 300 words* having found less is better than more.
I re-comment on comments and re-re-re-comment on re-re-comments.
* One exception: short stories.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Sacrificed on art's high altar

I thought I was finished with France. I'm home now, having cut the chain of disasters that was bringing Tom close to a nervous breakdown. But then Occasional Speeder slipped me a couple of pix I felt I had to use. They're linked you see.

Our last meal in Aniane was dinner at The Esplanade, the place where I fell so grievously and subsequently achieved clown-like status among the locals. Alas, there was entertainmment - two guitars, drums and keyboard - sounding like World War Two (all five years of it). I found myself crouching because when I sat up from my encornet de seiche farci (a sausage-like structure fashioned from octopus) my thoracic cavity resonated as if from Thor's hammer.

"What style of music is this?" I asked genially of Darren, my son-in-law. "Rock," he said curtly, convinced I was in teasing mode. Since Wikipedia lists 215 sub-genres of rock from Grindle to Crunkcore and from Ethereal Wave to Swedish Death Metal I felt I had been short-changed.

Friends, it was noisy. We think the little old lady on the left came out to complain but she may have been discussing Kierkegaard. VR and I resorted to exchanging messages written on a table napkin (see pic right) which was spirited away by Occasional Speeder when the food arrived. I've no doubt it will form the theme of yet another terrible English TV romcom making fun of deafness.

Finally, me laughing. To prove I can. It's more fun to imply gloom and speculated felo de se but occasionally I feel for my readers. Following Tone Deaf must be a miserable row to hoe. My eternal gratitude.


  1. Happiness is a glass of beer and proper sunshine. You certainly seem to be surviving the string of disasters which left us almost daily on the edge of our seats during your time in France.

  2. Glad you made it home safe and sound. Really admire and appreciate the photos of you and VR. Thanks for posting them.

    (I knew a beautiful smile lurked behind the dour façade you put on in those other photos!)

  3. So you made it. Well done.

  4. Where they practicing for the High Voltage Festival? Drums are the culprit. 10 Taiko?drums beaten in harmony almost made me faint.

  5. Joe: For the life of me I can't think why I was smiling. Perhaps the amplified noise had driven me temporarily silly. Or even permanently.

    Crow: I worry about the adjective. It doesn't go with being a fella.

    Tom: Making it wasn't without its disasters, I fear. I woke up in Neufchatel-en-Bray (Halfway home) to find I seemed to have lost my shoulder bag (passports, credit cards, a stack of euros, Eurotunnel tickets). But I thought such news would have pushed you over the edge and so I refrained from mentioning it.

    Ellena: No, it was just a bog-standard rock group intent on cutting us off from the rest of life. Ironically, if I listened hard, I realised the lead guitar had talent but his graceful little licks went for nothing among these tangible perturbations. Loudness, it seems, is youth.

    I think I've seen the drum entertainment you refer to. Were they Japanese? In contrast with the lot I refer to they were positively delicate.

  6. You look positively benign in that last photo and there's even a halo on one side of your head - how are you ever going to explain that away?

    Unacceptable Noise (UN for short) is the name of nearly all pop music since about the 1980s. If there's any that doesn't fit that definition then I haven't heard it. Quite possible since I haven't been listening.

  7. Natalie: Benign. Perhaps I've been trommeled (A good onomatopoeiac German word) and strummed into stupidity. In fact the more I look at this pic the less convinced I am that this is an expression of pleasure. In the post I mention my fall (in this bar) turned me into a clown; possibly the music enhanced my state and I also became the village idiot.

    RW (zS): You insist on acting a John the Baptist role vis à vis ale. May I remind you how JtB ended up.