Wednesday, 25 November 2020
The other day in church, for no apparent reason, unless it was just to annoy me, there was a lady in the choir playing the flute. You know the one I mean? A wooden tube about 12 inches long with a lot of holes in it and you blow at one end to produce the most horrendous of sounds. Silent was the usual musical organ, and the occasional guitars we have every few Sundays. Today it was just that woman with a flute accompanied by a choir singing like a load of amorous cats on heat at night. I am sure God did not deserve such a cacophony.
When I got home I searched the Internet for the origin of the flute. Apparently, it dates thousands of years and in very ancient times it was a favourite amongst shepherds who used to play it at night to pass away the time whilst guarding their socks ... flox ... sheep! Unfortunately, as the shepherds played their flutes rather badly, a bit like the woman in the choir today, the sheep thought that he had a lung obstruction which made him wheeze as he breathed, so they all bleated in sympathy. Consequently, their bleating attracted the wolves from far and wide who thought there was a self-service restaurant serving nice lamb for free.
It took quite some time for the slow-witted shepherds to make the connection that their flute playing made the sheep bleat which in turn invited the wolves for dinner. So the practice of shepherds playing the flute eventually died away.
However, this was not the case in church the other day. That woman was determined to ruin everyone of my favourite hymns as she screeched out of tune making God reach out for the headache tablets.
Perhaps next week I should bring a few sheep to church to supplement the out-of-tune choir.