Aeolian Roof Box

If you've been following this blog you'll know I went to see some musical theatre last week rather than go and look at a roof box. In fact I went the next morning, prior to a weekend's camping and jamming in the woods near historic Bury St Edmunds.

I duly bought the box and headed for home. I was about to turn on the radio, my chosen CD having been refused by the in-car entertainment system, when I was treated to the song of the roof box. Sweeter even than those ancient sirens who charmed Odysseus. Mind you, they had to compete for attention with the Aegean Sea: the A140 is easier to upstage.

Factors including wind direction and speed of travel made for an enjoyable ride back listening to the roof-bars and box run through the harmonic series. And in case you're wondering if I've lost the plot, others have enthused unbidden. It was my best motoring experience since Classic FM used birdsong as a test signal back in the 1990s. Had I known the roof-box vendor was throwing in an aeolian harp I may have forced another tenner on him.

Well it's nearly time for a new game. August's Game of the Month will have a seaside flavour, although it can be played anywhere. Look out for it from Saturday. Meanwhile it's not too late to check out the July offering at http://www.playwithsound.com/music-game.html Called Limelight you may find it useful if you are faced with a disparate band of would-be musicians at a workshop or play-scheme this summer.

Seaside Sounds

A sunny day and a fine one for the North Norfolk coast. I dropped my partner and the kids near the front and went looking for a parking place. When I reached the cliff top a few minutes later there was no sign of the rest of the family but I did find, between the ice cream van and the lobster traps, a gathering of some thirty souls on a triangle of grass. 'Scripture Union' read the banner but I'd already heard them and their little P.A. system from around the corner.

The Billy Graham figure (vicar?) was a mild mannered chap in his 30s with all the iconoclastic zeal of a children's TV presenter from the 1970s. All very English and understated. "So God spoke to you in London," he was saying into a megaphone to a member of the congregation who gave confirmation. "And [to another] God spoke to you at work? What work do you do? A librarian. In which county? Sussex. So God has spoken to us in London and in America and in Sussex. And this is evidence that God..."

Hang on a minute, I think, my heckles rising. Evidence? God forbid you're ever called for jury service. And I find I'm resenting the din of the megaphone as much as the smug self-certainty of the man of faith behind it. But as I wander down the cliff path the tinny music that follows the sermon merges with the sounds of laughing children, gulls and the breeze and I realise this is what the seaside is all about. The world on holiday and all the hullabaloo that goes with it. To me this born-again evangelist is an echo of the showmen and callers of yesteryear. All his flock need to do now is ditch the canned music and form a brass band. That's the kind of revival I'd be game for on a sunny day at the beach. A little tiddly-om-pom-pom along the prom to wake up a sleepy little seaside town and breathe life into what's known here in Norfolk as God's waiting room.