A question for anyone who chooses to consider such trifles: when you're earwormed (assuming you experience (suffer?) earworms), do you get tune, plus words (where relevant), in a particualr arrangement or tune etc. in your own arrangement?
In case the question's not worded clearly enough, let me explain. I was washing up this morning "listening" (due to my media boycott of today) to The Only Living Boy in New York pretty much exactly as Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel recorded it, as in hearing the vocal line and harmony and arrangement, and apprecieating the dynamics and shape of the song. I'm most definitely earwormed by a particular instance of the song. (It happens with classical music, too. I tend to recall James Galway's flute arrangements of some non-flute pieces, for instance, or orchestral versions and rock rearrangements.)
To make matters even more interesting, when The Only Living Boy... finished, the ear-player (worm-player?) neatly segued into XTC's Making Plans for Nigel, complete with video.
So, to fill in lj's little tags:
Music: Simon and Garfunkel "Old Friends" (Disc 1)
And the media boycott is down to the Today programme annoying me twice before 9.00 a.m.: first by repeatedly reporting that there is no news about the royal sprogging; second by saying at just after 8.30a.m. that they were running late, so they'd moved the sports news to after the news headlines and then immediately wasting time by running a trailer for an upcoming broadcast. There are far too many adverts for future programmes, so much so I find I'm actively avoiding anything I hear trailed more than a couple of times. Yup, I was reminded about the new Neil Gaiman on Book at Bedtime on both Radio 4 and 4 Extra so often I chose not to bother listening. My loss, except I shan't be buying the book either.
That perhaps might indicate an lj
Yesterday I saw fallow deer. I have maybe one photo I could share, from our first--rather distant--sighting. But, when we found a group in the shade of some very fine trees sheltered by a drystone wall, I didn't bother with a camera.
There were well over a dozen of them from the littlest ones, to the proud possessors of a slim pairs of candesticks, to the wearers of entire candleabras. They were watchful, but evidently used to visitors gawping at them, not unduly worried. So we gawped, admired the antlers, the spotted coats, the Cleopatra-kohled eyes, eventually walked on up the hill keeping a judicious distance.
It was only when we had almost left them behind that I spotted way back in the shadows the largest set of antlers, tall and broad, still seemingly blurred with velvet. He, I'm assuming by size it was he, slowly stood, revealing the spotted back and almost-white underparts. From chin and along his lower flanks and legs he was at least as close to pure white as most "grey" horses. Not albino, just white below his patterned saddle. He didn't stick around long, but disappeared up the slope, deeper into the shade, until he was gone.
today, it's not heatstroke from a weekend of hammering heat and pounding sunlight, it's enchanted deer.
And whilst now I'm
there's a bit of me stilled by the sight of the fallow deer of
Location: Dyrham Park.
[And, I know, the explanation for my previous post is not yet forthcoming. Soon.]