Not Doris Svensonn

by Pseud O'Nym

The last couple of days have involved me having the rather disconcerting experience of me not being someone else. And why was I not Doris Svensonn this morning? Well the sound of a harmonica being played while I’m having my first cup of tea, the first cup of tea moreover, that the person playing the harmonica knows I like to enjoy in silence. A thought has just occurred to me: why is a harmonica called a harmonica, when the sound that comes out of it is so patently not?

Anyway, LMS continued on in the vein for what was too long until Joe asked her stop, which she did. Eventually. However, the silence couldn’t last and there were no thoughts of homicide in my mind whatsoever, no idle speculation of which of the items readily to hand could best be used as a murder weapon, when Joe suggested that LMS should try to play scales on it instead in a kind of weird parental amnesia.

This ear bedevilment was soon replaced by Joe suggesting that LMS should play the bongo’s. “Quietly, he said. Yes indeed he did! I had no idea that bongo’s came with volume settings, I just thought there was only one, bloody infuriating. With of course they are, one glorious exception:

From 1:46 on its just aural perfection. It just is.

Anyway, enough about me. How was your morning? Again, another thought has just popped into my head. Mine wasn’t so much a morning as a mourning.