Another day, another embrace. With another large woman of good heart. At Brixton Academy. It was a high security night. The youngest and I queued ten minutes around the block to get in. We were boxed into boys and girls. As we entered the foyer, a security woman started singing. A song with my name. From Barefoot in the Park. When Robert Redford's stuck on the roof. And needs Jane Fonda to open the skylight. Tonight's delivery was more Chaka Khan than Hollywood. And she carried on singing while giving my pockets a once over. "You always make me smile" she said, ushering me in, "Enjoy the show." She was so joyous, I hugged her. My youngest was a bit put out. "Who was that?" "I haven't a clue," I said, "But she did the same two years back, when I came here with your sister. She deserves a hug." The ensuing concert was a fitting end to a day of aural torture. Earlier my ma and I had spent five hours in the car getting to and from darkest Surrey. It should have been three. But we got lost in the middle. And it was raining. And all the time there was a terrible whining beneath us. Either the fan belt's gone, or the exhaust's bust. The bad news is, it requires attention. And it's MOT time. I wonder where I can purchase a monkey to dance while I busk on my organ? Tonight's band, Panic at the Disco, put on a well choreographed show. But drowned in their own feedback. They had the reverse problem. A surfeit of monkeys but their organs went phut:-(
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Another day, another embrace. With another large woman of good heart. At Brixton Academy. It was a high security night. The youngest and I queued ten minutes around the block to get in. We were boxed into boys and girls. As we entered the foyer, a security woman started singing. A song with my name. From Barefoot in the Park. When Robert Redford's stuck on the roof. And needs Jane Fonda to open the skylight. Tonight's delivery was more Chaka Khan than Hollywood. And she carried on singing while giving my pockets a once over. "You always make me smile" she said, ushering me in, "Enjoy the show." She was so joyous, I hugged her. My youngest was a bit put out. "Who was that?" "I haven't a clue," I said, "But she did the same two years back, when I came here with your sister. She deserves a hug." The ensuing concert was a fitting end to a day of aural torture. Earlier my ma and I had spent five hours in the car getting to and from darkest Surrey. It should have been three. But we got lost in the middle. And it was raining. And all the time there was a terrible whining beneath us. Either the fan belt's gone, or the exhaust's bust. The bad news is, it requires attention. And it's MOT time. I wonder where I can purchase a monkey to dance while I busk on my organ? Tonight's band, Panic at the Disco, put on a well choreographed show. But drowned in their own feedback. They had the reverse problem. A surfeit of monkeys but their organs went phut:-(
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2 comments:
You are the mistress of emotional analysis and the archdeacon of human behaviour, but when it comes to cars...
If the car is whining it is not the fanbelt (the engine would boil) or the exhaust (the noise would be of a old turbo prop taking off and the smell life threatening). It could be the gearbox or clutch, or the exhaust manifold may have a hole in it. Or possibly a small dog is caught under the passenger seat?
Archdeacon? I prefer being the mistress;-) I'm doing a quick calculation to see which would be the least wearing option of those on your list, and I'm hoping it's the exhaust manifold, as that doesn't require the removal of internal parts:-o It gets louder, the faster you go - maybe it is a dog after all and I'm wearing the poor mutt out as it literally runs to stand still? I must check local trees for lost pet postings - far less troublesome than trying to excavate a way through the detritus in our footwells... Yow:-o
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