The VeloDrone, Marie and Belle et Bonne are in the Garden of Unearthly Delights, lounging in deckchairs in front of a large wooden box.
Marie: What an intriguing box.
Belle et Bonne: "Niets Is Echt Moeilijk". What does that mean?
The VeloDrone: It means Nothing is Really Difficult. It's Dutch.
Belle et Bonne: Clever papa!
Marie: Where's David got to? It's way past lunch time.
The VeloDrone: He went to a concert in the Elder Hall. Oh, here he is now!
Le Bon David: Here I am!
The VEloDrone: How was the concert?
Le Bon David: Awful! I don't like these modern nineteenth century composers. Always galloping. Have you ever heard Schumann's Davidsbundlertanze?
Marie: David's Group Dances! That sounds like something you'd enjoy.
Le Bn David: Well it wasn't. It was eighteen short character pieces on the piano, all of a jumble. They went by the names of Lively, Heartfelt, Humorous, Impatient, Simple, Very Quick, Not Fast and Fresh Laid.
The VeloDrone: That's only nine.
Le Bon David: He went through them twice.
Belle et Bonne: Could you tell which was which?
Le Bon David: No, that was the thing. Whenever I thought I'd worked out where we were up to, the next piece would prove I was wrong. I tried cheating by following an old lady's finger but she was bamboozled as well. She got to the end of the program a long time before the pianist did.
Belle et Bon: Poor Uncle David! Never mind. Let's go and get some lunch. And tonight we're all going to the Bakehouse to see @Shakespeare.com.
Le Bon David (groaning) : Shakespeare!
The VeloDrone: Dot com, David. Dot com.
Showing posts with label Schumann. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Schumann. Show all posts
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Where are You Coming From Daughter?
On Friday I was in the Elder Hall, sitting next to my mum, who had a dreadful cold. We were waiting for the Lunch Hour Concert to begin. We'd sat at the end of a row in case my mum had a coughing fit, which was quite likely. She rummaged in her bag for a sweet.
Would you like a Butter Menthol? she asked me. I said, Err..... yes thank you, I would.
That could be a song.
Would you like a Butter Menthol ? she asked me.
I said, Err.... yes thank you, I would.
But then I felt suddenly certain
Her cold germs would do me no good.
Butter Menthols are not wrapped up these days
And ones she had touched were inside
If I was unlucky and ate one
It might be the reason I died.
Cough cough.....
How very silly. I apologise wholeheartedly for that. Now to continue.....
The concert was Rosalind Martin, singing songs of Chopin and Schumann, in a lacy latte dress.
Most of the songs were about longing, and as a consequence were quite sad. But my favorite was the Lithuanian Song: ( of course it was in Lithuanian )
Very early one morning, the sun was rising,
Near the glass window Mother was sitting;
Where, she asks, are you coming from my daughter?
Where did you get your wreath all wet?
The daughter replies that it's wet because she had to get up early to fetch water, but Mother isn't having any of it, and accuses her daughter of running off into a field to chat with a boy.
It's true, it's true, Mother, truth I'd rather say-
My sweetheart I spotted in the field;
We only spent a few minutes talking,
And in that time, dew settled on my wreath.
You can see why I liked it.
Would you like a Butter Menthol? she asked me. I said, Err..... yes thank you, I would.
That could be a song.
Would you like a Butter Menthol ? she asked me.
I said, Err.... yes thank you, I would.
But then I felt suddenly certain
Her cold germs would do me no good.
Butter Menthols are not wrapped up these days
And ones she had touched were inside
If I was unlucky and ate one
It might be the reason I died.
Cough cough.....
How very silly. I apologise wholeheartedly for that. Now to continue.....
The concert was Rosalind Martin, singing songs of Chopin and Schumann, in a lacy latte dress.
Most of the songs were about longing, and as a consequence were quite sad. But my favorite was the Lithuanian Song: ( of course it was in Lithuanian )
Very early one morning, the sun was rising,
Near the glass window Mother was sitting;
Where, she asks, are you coming from my daughter?
Where did you get your wreath all wet?
The daughter replies that it's wet because she had to get up early to fetch water, but Mother isn't having any of it, and accuses her daughter of running off into a field to chat with a boy.
It's true, it's true, Mother, truth I'd rather say-
My sweetheart I spotted in the field;
We only spent a few minutes talking,
And in that time, dew settled on my wreath.
You can see why I liked it.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Lucky!
It was Friday the thirteenth. I didn't even think about it being unlucky. That was lucky.
I walked in to the city, forgetting that Chapel Street was blocked by roadworks. That was unlucky. I was about to backtrack, when I saw there was a pathway for pedestrians. That was lucky. Passing the diggings, I remembered I once wanted to be an archaeologist. There was nothing much to see though, but a broken pipe. It made me think I wouldn't want to be an archaeologist in Kent Town.
Mum and I circled the entire food hall and couldn't decide what to eat. Time was passing so we went to Michel's Patisserie, because it was the nearest. I ordered a vegetable pasty and she ordered a cheese and bacon triangle. Mine looked very ordinary on the outside. When I cut it open out popped two big green peas. You've no idea how much that made a difference.
During the Lunch Hour Concert, as the pianist played a soft poetic moving Fantasie of Schumann, a lady's mobile phone rang loudly. It rang four times before she found it in the bottom of her handbag. By then the pianist had stopped playing and the room was full of very bad vibrations. That was unlucky. At least it wasn't my phone, I always switch it off before the concert. No one calls me on it, anyway, at lunchtime.
Before dinner I went into the lounge to close the curtains. Above the curtain track I saw a huge Huntsman spider on the wall. I stared at him for ages wondering what to do. There's a spare bed in the lounge and you wouldn't want a Huntsman on the loose if you were in it. I whacked it hard with the head of a broom. Instead of falling to the floor and running at the speed of light to a hiding place from which to plot revenge, it dropped down dead immediately, and formed a tiny ball. I whacked it many times until its legs fell off.
I walked in to the city, forgetting that Chapel Street was blocked by roadworks. That was unlucky. I was about to backtrack, when I saw there was a pathway for pedestrians. That was lucky. Passing the diggings, I remembered I once wanted to be an archaeologist. There was nothing much to see though, but a broken pipe. It made me think I wouldn't want to be an archaeologist in Kent Town.
Mum and I circled the entire food hall and couldn't decide what to eat. Time was passing so we went to Michel's Patisserie, because it was the nearest. I ordered a vegetable pasty and she ordered a cheese and bacon triangle. Mine looked very ordinary on the outside. When I cut it open out popped two big green peas. You've no idea how much that made a difference.
During the Lunch Hour Concert, as the pianist played a soft poetic moving Fantasie of Schumann, a lady's mobile phone rang loudly. It rang four times before she found it in the bottom of her handbag. By then the pianist had stopped playing and the room was full of very bad vibrations. That was unlucky. At least it wasn't my phone, I always switch it off before the concert. No one calls me on it, anyway, at lunchtime.
Before dinner I went into the lounge to close the curtains. Above the curtain track I saw a huge Huntsman spider on the wall. I stared at him for ages wondering what to do. There's a spare bed in the lounge and you wouldn't want a Huntsman on the loose if you were in it. I whacked it hard with the head of a broom. Instead of falling to the floor and running at the speed of light to a hiding place from which to plot revenge, it dropped down dead immediately, and formed a tiny ball. I whacked it many times until its legs fell off.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Too Specific Exorcism No Good
An exorcism is always pronounced at the beginning of the lunch hour concerts:
Ladies and gentlemen may I ask you all to please turn off your mobile phones.
It works, for mobile phones, but it's far too specific, if you ask me. Take today for instance. Marija Bajalica was playing Haydn's Piano Sonata No 38 in F on the piano. How hard would it have been to have added this exorcism before she began:
In the name of the father the son and the holy ghost don't hum please, amen.
Because we were plagued during the entire first movement by a hummer.
And another even stranger spirit had entered the hall untroubled by an exorcism. I saw evidence of this spirit as Marija played Schumann's Etudes Symphoniques. These are a series of variations each more moody than the last, except for the last.
I was watching the hands of Marija, which were long and catlike. I was sad because I couldn't see the tips of her fingers, due to the angle at which I was sitting.
I looked idly down at the floor under the seat of the man in front of me. I saw a square of light, illuminating stiletto marks in the wood, and 2 faint lines where the floorboards joined. Suddenly there appeared in the lower half of the square of light, as though performing on a tiny stage, the shadows of the tips of 3 fingers dancing rhythmically to Marija's etude.
What could they have been but the spirits of Marija's hidden fingers, and how easily could their escape have been prevented?
In the name of the father son and holy ghost keep your hands to yourselves amen.
Ladies and gentlemen may I ask you all to please turn off your mobile phones.
It works, for mobile phones, but it's far too specific, if you ask me. Take today for instance. Marija Bajalica was playing Haydn's Piano Sonata No 38 in F on the piano. How hard would it have been to have added this exorcism before she began:
In the name of the father the son and the holy ghost don't hum please, amen.
Because we were plagued during the entire first movement by a hummer.
And another even stranger spirit had entered the hall untroubled by an exorcism. I saw evidence of this spirit as Marija played Schumann's Etudes Symphoniques. These are a series of variations each more moody than the last, except for the last.
I was watching the hands of Marija, which were long and catlike. I was sad because I couldn't see the tips of her fingers, due to the angle at which I was sitting.
I looked idly down at the floor under the seat of the man in front of me. I saw a square of light, illuminating stiletto marks in the wood, and 2 faint lines where the floorboards joined. Suddenly there appeared in the lower half of the square of light, as though performing on a tiny stage, the shadows of the tips of 3 fingers dancing rhythmically to Marija's etude.
What could they have been but the spirits of Marija's hidden fingers, and how easily could their escape have been prevented?
In the name of the father son and holy ghost keep your hands to yourselves amen.
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