If you can't spend Christmas day in your pajamas, when can you? Katy was certainly in no hurry to get dressed, and after a more than civilised 8am start we had one of the most relaxed Christmas days I can remember. Here's my Facebook post for yesterday: Quakers don't usually make a fuss about the twenty-fifth day of Twelfth Month, so I thought I might darken the doors of my local Anglican church for midnight mass and some hearty carol singing. Turns out they are not blessed(?) with a live organist but are dependent on prerecorded music tracks, which are usually just a tad too fast and so rigidly metrical that congregations often fail to keep in sync. The machine gave us only 4 verses of Once in Royal , although 6 were printed, and during Silent Night the music was so much faster than our preferred tempo that someone wisely switched it off after just 2 lines. How wonderfully appropriate, given the origins of that carol.
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You know, if her shirt were a guitar and the hoops frets, she'd be holding down a 7+9 - the famous Hendrix chord (in the first inversion). A rock chick in the making?
But to move on to more important matters:
Brahms had long arms.
By me. Roughly following the internal rhyme scheme. (With apologies to Clio. And anyone with the slightest affection for scansion):
Brahms had long arms.
One day, so men say,
He was dancing and prancing
At a ball, in a hall.
A fellow, all mellow,
Was stumbling and tumbling
And retching and leching.
Drunk as a lord. Oh, Gord!
Brahms reached out, and preached out:
"You distress. You're a mess!"
With his long arms, his strong arms,
He hit out at the the nit.
The nit bled from his head.
Brahms' big long arms
Led him to bed.
(Heaving whilst leaving)
Some guests asked, distressed:
"Who is that doofus?"
As he cried, Brahms replied:
It's Liszt. He's piszt.
__________________________
Do I get the prize?