Distant Drums

EARLY one morning, very early, I was awoken by somebody thumping away on a big bass drum and apparently doing their utmost to break the Iberian sound barrier. Aware that this infuriating discordance was almost certainly being caused by a remarkably unpopular Portuguese gentleman who marches through the local streets two or three times a year, ordering his pot-rattling offspring to extract money from passers-by, I muttered one or two things about his illegitimate parentage and made a futile attempt to go back to sleep.

Thankfully, after three or four minutes the deafening noise inexplicably stopped and I was forced to conclude that somebody else living within this two-mile radius of reckless reverberation must have decided to remonstrate with this non-empathic individual in no uncertain terms. Fifty-seven minutes later, however, the thumping began once again.

I'm not sure how durable the average wooden drumstick is these days, but I never cease to be amazed by the wonders of modern surgery.