Turning into my Dad

When I was young I used to play music in my bedroom and my dad, may God rest his soul (or at least have mercy on it), would shout up the stairs “What is that bloody noise?” I’ve toned it down for this is a family blog after all.

I’d get a lecture: real music isn’t made any more…none of them can sing…in my day I listened to…dread to think what effect it has on your brain…Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole- now those boys could sing…not even sure you’re my child etc.

Fast forward to the modern era and I’m sitting in the barber’s waiting to get my hair cut. On the radio there is a sound that makes me think they have it set between stations and are picking up static. At the end of this virtuoso performance the breathless woman, responsible for playing this offence to the eardrums, comes on and expects the listening audience including all of us in the barber’s waiting room to agree with her when she enthuses “Wasn’t that absolutely amazing?”

Despite the fact that the room is packed with strangers, I find myself shouting out an involuntary “NO!” All eyes turn to me. I shrug and say “Well come on…what is that bloody noise?”