The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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9:34am on Thursday, 1st December, 2005:
Most Thursdays, we go round my mother's for breakfast. She lives about 10 miles away, but I have to take my wife to the train station anyway while we're going and the school is on the way back, so it's not a great waste of petrol. I decided today to play some classical music in the car, on the grounds that it educates my kids beyond what they know from TV (the most classical-heavy show is, surprisingly, Smurfs). Besides, it stops them arguing with each other over which one of them should inflict their taste on the other.
Today, I played them some Rodrigo, the Concerto de Aranjuez and Fantasia para un Gentilhombre. Both of these are guitar pieces and sound very Spanish, but hey, I've already heard enough Christmas carols in shops to last me until December 25th...
Of course, no sooner had the first few notes sounded than Jenny announced, "Oh this. This really grates on me".
Not as much as it grated on me, as it happens.
I used to like classical guitar music a lot, but then one day my father told me something about it which completely spoiled it forever. If you listen to it a certain way, then — well, I'm not going to say, because then I'd ruin it for you, too. Whatever, his pointing out of that one thing has meant that every time I heard classical guitar music now, my ears are drawn to it and that's that. Up until my dad mentioned his observation to me, I was completely oblivious to it. Now, though, I hear it every time.
In other words, when it comes to classical guitar music I can smell the bullock.
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