Day 7: strangled at birth
This apocalypse is weird. A small three-person brass band has just wandered down my road, tootling tunes; from the joyously loud clothing I would judge they are Minstrel Carnival remnants. I am not sure what they were trying to achieve, as lockdown and social distancing suggest no-one should be popping out of their houses with donations; it may be simply another manifestation of the same thing that led Italians to improvise opera off their balconies. In the dark times there will be singing about the dark times, apparently. I shall try not to read the fact that their first choice of song was "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" as an omen of some sort.
However, whatever its imperative, the mini-concert has just been somewhat heavy-handidly suppressed by a truck full of police, who bundled the musicians into the back amid considerable shouting and brandishing of hand sanitiser. Thereby, may I add, aiding the dissemination efforts of the coronavirus considerably more than the simple musical trio ever did. Presumably this is a lockdown enforcement, but it seems like an overreaction.
Even micro brass bands appear to make me cry. Although that may be the apocalypse talking.
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However, whatever its imperative, the mini-concert has just been somewhat heavy-handidly suppressed by a truck full of police, who bundled the musicians into the back amid considerable shouting and brandishing of hand sanitiser. Thereby, may I add, aiding the dissemination efforts of the coronavirus considerably more than the simple musical trio ever did. Presumably this is a lockdown enforcement, but it seems like an overreaction.
Even micro brass bands appear to make me cry. Although that may be the apocalypse talking.
This entry was originally posted at https://freckles-and-doubt.dreamwidth.org/976818.html. Please comment there using OpenID.