Oh, not my nose!

We'd been shopping in Hereford. VR proposed we meet up in the bus station. I hate buses but today would be my lucky day: no buses.

As I arrived VR sat squeezed on the bench waiting for the Number 75. She hailed me and the woman beside slid sideways to allow me space. Genteel and quick-thinking. Three steps away I fixed my eyes on my benefactor intending to thank her. I should have looked to my feet.

I tripped on the kerb and fell flat on my face. Literally! My nose resting on the paving stones. My glasses, secured by a granny-string, tinkled somewhere.

I lay tranquilly, mentally palpating myself for injuries. Both knees abraded despite trouser protection. Left big toe compressed half a centimetre; I must have kicked the kerb. A circular flap of skin hanging from my right little finger. Left wrist strained slightly. Other minor pains.

Two women said “Oh! Oh! Oh!” and rushed over, their heads appearing inverted from where I lay. Behind, an elderly – even old – male grasped at my shoulders, pulling vainly. I assumed a kneeling position and stood up. The women said “Oh! Oh! Oh!” albeit more slowly. One gave me tissues; I dabbed at my nose and saw gratifying blobs of blood.

I explained I’d been intending to thank the tissue donater for sliding aside on the bench, looking at her not the kerb, falling as a result. “I have that effect on men,” she said. That’s pretty good, I thought. VR said we would take a taxi. I dabbed and said “Alas, my nose, easily my best feature.” The women laughed.

At home it was diet day. VR served my Braeburn apple cut fan-shaped on the plate. I watched the Tour de France live. Life resumed its predictability.

Jazz for grownups

Bebop (bop) jazz developed by Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonious Monk is easier to recognise than define. Best to dwell on what bop isn't. I like "it strove to counter the popularisation of swing (eg, Benny Goodman, Glen Miller) with non-danceable music that demanded listening." - a crusade launched to stamp out depraved dancing then.

The technical definitions are confusing. Certainly fast tempi and instrumental virtuosity are essential bop elements but being "based on the combination of harmonic structure and melody" doesn’t distinguish bop from other jazz. I agree with this Wikipedia pearl: "(it had) an air of exclusivity, the 'regular' musicians would often reharmonise the standards in order to exclude those whom they considered outsiders or simply weaker players." Of all music bop is easily the most elitist.

Most find it hard to sing along to bop solos, let alone whistle them. Either they're resolutely minor key or possibly atonal, which I take to mean unattached to any formal key signature. So how are we supposed to appreciate them?

Well, it's always fun to watch and/or listen to any activity based on the My-Next-Trick-Is-Impossible text. Here's Dizzy with SALT PEANUTS - note his second solo starting about 4 min 20. Professionals only need apply. Funny, I like this but hate deliberately difficult posh stuff like Tartini’s Devil’s Trill.

Bop is no doubt serious music despite the verve with which it’s played. I don’t think we’re meant to listen to twenty bop tracks one after the other. Not me, anyway. Also I reckon we’re asked to applaud the sheer technical skill as something separate from the music – a tribute to human endeavour if you like. Oh yes, here’s a plus – bop is never sentimental.