It’s 5.22am as I commence this daily chronicle. My attention currently fixed on a curious whistling noise which is holds my attention while I endeavour waxing lyrical.
To steal one of my own old jokes, Lyrical is my cat and he’s not overly happy about this waxing arrangement. With there being issues around the capitalisation of lyrical, it’s admittedly not a quip which scans very well in the written format. For the gag to work a great deal more effectively it indisputably need to be delivered in an audio format….. Ne’er mind!
Actually, is it possible to steal one of your own gags? After all, surely it can’t be classed as copyright infringement if I thought of the wisecrack in the first place…… Can it?
Anyhow, what’s the big deal. Basically, if I was that concerned about ‘pilfering’ my own intellectual property surely I could make up for the patent infringement by treating myself to a fish and chip supper, or a day out at Alton Towers, ….. Although, as I’m not that arsed about going to Alton Towers, probably wiser to opt for the chippy tea as a placatory tool.
Anyhow, back to the whistling noise playing out as my prevailing soundscape.
Despite affording this aural enigma significant thought (well, about five minutes of erratic pondering), as it stands I’m still unable to work out the source of this tooting.
Initially, I thought it was perhaps borne from an early morning summer zephyr facing resistance from an ajar bedroom window – The whistling noise consequential of this drag on the breeze’s flow……. After short deliberation, though, I’ve concluded the tooting sound was coming from beyond my bedroom window, so I quickly ruled that out as the source.
Like a fascinated child, I continued to ponder the origins of this noise. My next thought whether my serenity was being sullied by a Roger Whittaker (RW) tribute act. A well-meaning, but clearly thoughtless, individual who’d set up on the driveway of chez Strachan with a view to serenading yours truly.
A notion I swiftly dismissed for a multitude of reasons. The main one being “What the hell would a tribute act to the whistling minstrel Whittaker be doing performing their arbitrary act in a West Yorkshire suburb at 5am in the morning?”
Even if the tooter paying RW reverence lived within this aforementioned West Yorkshire suburb, surely if he/she felt the need to afford me examples of their eccentric brand of refrain they’d wait until a more respectable hour to peddle these musical wares. Notions which led to a hasty strikethrough of this being a source of the toot fest.
My next thought about potential causes of this annoying whistle was the possibility it could be a consequence of lorry brake pads squeaking while the vehicles endeavour navigating the nearby M62 motorway.
An idea which laid in conscious mind for as short a time as the cause being a Roger Whittaker tribute act. After all, the whistling was far too metronomic to be arbitrary braking sounds. Unless the Highways Agency was recklessly holding an early morning synchronised braking competition on the M62 it couldn’t possibly be the source of this rhythmic tooting I concluded.
As I commence this paragraph it’s now 6.23am. One hour and one minute on from commencing this essay, I’m still at a loss as to the antecedent of the high pitched tones that’ve attracting my attention for much of those sixty one minutes.
Anyhow, enough of being held hostage by this literary distraction; there’s more pressing plans afoot…… Right then, where’s Lyrical?!….. Bloody cat, it’s never around when you need it!!