The little gits - they're leaving in droves. The brain cells, that is. Another piece of incontrovertible evidence this morning that I'm going steadily and rapidly bonkers. Listening to Radio 3 on the way home from a meeting, spent the time from Falkner Street to Ullet Road (this is Liverpool) trying to remember what the piece of music was. In times gone by I'd roll my eyes at my mother's (or other aged adult's) stupidity in failing to recognise music instantly. sigh. My mother's dead, so now I'm it. The daft old bat. It's Sibelius. No, it's something English. But it's not Elgar, or Vaughan Williams. Or is it? No. Ah - that does sound like Sibelius. I know this music so well.
And then it stops. There I was thinking it was the first or second movement, but the audience are clapping. The end. Shit - not Sibelius then. And then the announcer wrecks my day. Meistersingers. Overture thereof.
Oh god. Wagner. Wagner. I am not a Wagner fan. How nuts must I be?
Don't think I'm a pretentious music buff - I'm not. But I know what I know and especially what I like. Or I used to.
That's it, then. Not only on the slippery slope, but on a tin tray, at speed.
