The saxophone is a beautiful musical instrument. It not only looks good, but in the hands of an accomplished player it sounds wonderful. The journey towards obtaining this accomplishment however is a long one, and can be exceedingly painful to those who are subjected to the sounds of the beginners efforts.
At lunchtime today after a walk with Sadie the German Shepherd, I decided that a cup of tea and a bacon roll would satisfy my well earned hunger pangs. The kettle had boiled and the tea was brewing, The bacon had been fried and had obtained union with a crusty, wholemeal roll. All that was needed now was a drop of milk in the tea, and a generous dollop of brown sauce on the bacon roll.
It was at this crucial and mouth watering stage of the proceedings that I heard the agonised yowlings of a cat fight outside. Thinking that Bonnie, my ginger moggy was in trouble with one of the local tomcats, I rushed outside to render assistance.
Unknown to me, Tricia, who is the mother of my extremely handsome son George, hoping that I would be able to repair it, had left an old garden trug on my doorstep. In my haste to go to Bonnie's aid, I failed to notice the trug until my left foot had trod in it, and my right foot had caught under it's handle. The subsequent fall, which appeared to happen in slow motion, was heavy, but due to the extreme athleticism of my perfectly honed body, I somehow managed to avoid serious injury.
On regaining my composure, I looked up to see that Bonnie and Sadie were both in attendance, and were looking at me in a bemused way. Bonnie was perfectly all right, and there was no sign of any fighting tomcats. The sound of a feline in distress, however, continued to assault my somewhat sensitive ears.
Further investigation revealed it was not the sound of fighting cats, although I feel I can be forgiven for thinking it was. No, it was the discordant, tuneless, screeching of my neighbours latest dire attempt at playing the saxophone. Whilst I am full of admiration for anyone as obviously tone death as he is, for trying to learn an instrument, I can only hope and pray that he soon realises just how far the sound of his saxophone carries, that he takes pity on his suffering neighbours, and takes up another hobby. Silent meditation might be a good one.
On returning to the wagon I am saddened to find that my bacon roll has gone from the kitchen worktop. Sadie is licking her chops, and has adopted the hangdog expression that expresses guilt but no shame. The chickens are fighting over half of a wholemeal roll, and Bonnie is chewing on what looks suspiciously like a piece of bacon rasher.
After all the assembled livestock have been told exactly what I think of them. I further vent my anger by shouting out to the would be saxophonist exactly would he should do with his instrument. Of course he can't hear me, because he is making too much bloody noise! Even if he could, my suggestion would be a physical impossibility. Which is a shame.
Perhaps I should admit, that before calming down, I accidentally stamped the trug into a hundred little pieces, before telling Tricia that it was sadly beyond repair.
Oh well, not to worry. These things happen. At least I can enjoy my cup of tea. But no, not even that solace is available to me. There is no milk in the fridge!
I still think the saxophone is a good looking instrument. The sound of it though? Funny how you can go off things.
The total views for my blog have now passed the 10,000 mark. I feel that this is a good time to take a break. Thank you for staying with me,and for all your comments. I cannot say how long my break from blogging will last, but I suspect that I will soon begin to miss your presence in my life. I hope you will all keep well. I will be back.