Sheep may safely graze
Nov. 1st, 2025 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
baroque_mongooseOn a lighter note... I have three best friends. I call them my Three Musketeers. Athos is, of course, very wise; Porthos is larger than life in all manner of ways; but my very best friend gets referred to as d'Artagnan, and unfortunately that doesn't suit him at all. He is much more of an Aramis. The only reason he got d'Artagnan was that if he were Aramis, I'd have to be d'Artagnan; and a d'Artagnan in a mobility scooter is somewhat more ridiculous than one who is actually a gentle, modest little man with a bald head and a lovely smile.
He's also a professional singer. Almost certainly the most outstanding one you've never heard of. Within his field he is world-famous, but his field is a somewhat esoteric one; and that suits him just fine, because certain things are expected of famous people and he isn't interested in any of them. He drives a car when he absolutely has to, but most of the time he gets around either by public transport, or, for preference, by bike; and he's quite happy to cycle the breadth of the country and back, though he's well into his sixties now.
And the other thing you need to know about him is he has a head like a sieve. Seriously. If he hadn't had that beautiful voice, he'd have ended up as the most absent-minded professor in Cambridge; as it is, he does always remember where and when he is supposed to be singing, but anything else - including rehearsals - can get vague to the point of mild dottiness. This is, after all, the man who once famously showed up to a rehearsal precisely one year early.
So... he's the main soloist in a concert at the Stour Music Festival, which is in the middle of Nowhere, Kent; we're talking quite close to twenty years ago now. And I go down there for the concert, but it isn't clear exactly where the church is, so I ask him for directions. In his inimitable style, he replies "the church is not in the village".
OK. That does not exactly tell me where it is, and there's no time to ask for further clarification; so I check into my hotel in Ashford and hope for the best. The church is about 8 km from the hotel, it's a nice day, this is well before I became disabled, so I decide I'm going to walk.
I walk. Eventually I get to the village. I ask a couple of people where the church is. They have no idea. I keep walking... and walking... and walking... and after a while I start to worry I've gone past it; then I spot a house by the side of the road, so I knock at the door to ask for directions. It's the right place to ask, as it turns out. A nice lady answers the door and explains that I just have to go down the little lane alongside the house, turn right at the end through the gate, and then I'll see it right in front of me across a field.
So I do that. And this field, as it turns out, is full of sheep.
I was born in the Lake District. I know sheep. At least... I thought I knew sheep, until that moment.
The sheep look at me. There's a momentary pause. Then, as one sheep, they all panic and flee to the furthest corner of the field. I'm... disconcerted.
However, there indeed is the church right in front of me; so I walk down the slope, sit down near the front of the church, and thoroughly enjoy the concert. After which I catch up with d'Artagnan, who's as mystified as I am about the sheep, and then I happen to mention I'm trying out a smartphone at the moment. He says, "Oh, yes, so am I!" and whips out an iPhone. My astonishment must be visible, because he immediately explains, "Well, it just turned out to be the thing that did all the things I needed it to best. And... it's got a metronome!"
Ah. A metronome. That explains everything.
I am already finding I don't like this smartphone (I am a competent touch typist, so I really hate phone keyboards); but when I get home I realise there is at least one amusing thing I can do with it, so I do this, and then I e-mail d'Artagnan to tell him I have done it.
"I downloaded a new ringtone," I say. "Bach. Sheep May Safely Graze."
It'd have been rude not to.
He's also a professional singer. Almost certainly the most outstanding one you've never heard of. Within his field he is world-famous, but his field is a somewhat esoteric one; and that suits him just fine, because certain things are expected of famous people and he isn't interested in any of them. He drives a car when he absolutely has to, but most of the time he gets around either by public transport, or, for preference, by bike; and he's quite happy to cycle the breadth of the country and back, though he's well into his sixties now.
And the other thing you need to know about him is he has a head like a sieve. Seriously. If he hadn't had that beautiful voice, he'd have ended up as the most absent-minded professor in Cambridge; as it is, he does always remember where and when he is supposed to be singing, but anything else - including rehearsals - can get vague to the point of mild dottiness. This is, after all, the man who once famously showed up to a rehearsal precisely one year early.
So... he's the main soloist in a concert at the Stour Music Festival, which is in the middle of Nowhere, Kent; we're talking quite close to twenty years ago now. And I go down there for the concert, but it isn't clear exactly where the church is, so I ask him for directions. In his inimitable style, he replies "the church is not in the village".
OK. That does not exactly tell me where it is, and there's no time to ask for further clarification; so I check into my hotel in Ashford and hope for the best. The church is about 8 km from the hotel, it's a nice day, this is well before I became disabled, so I decide I'm going to walk.
I walk. Eventually I get to the village. I ask a couple of people where the church is. They have no idea. I keep walking... and walking... and walking... and after a while I start to worry I've gone past it; then I spot a house by the side of the road, so I knock at the door to ask for directions. It's the right place to ask, as it turns out. A nice lady answers the door and explains that I just have to go down the little lane alongside the house, turn right at the end through the gate, and then I'll see it right in front of me across a field.
So I do that. And this field, as it turns out, is full of sheep.
I was born in the Lake District. I know sheep. At least... I thought I knew sheep, until that moment.
The sheep look at me. There's a momentary pause. Then, as one sheep, they all panic and flee to the furthest corner of the field. I'm... disconcerted.
However, there indeed is the church right in front of me; so I walk down the slope, sit down near the front of the church, and thoroughly enjoy the concert. After which I catch up with d'Artagnan, who's as mystified as I am about the sheep, and then I happen to mention I'm trying out a smartphone at the moment. He says, "Oh, yes, so am I!" and whips out an iPhone. My astonishment must be visible, because he immediately explains, "Well, it just turned out to be the thing that did all the things I needed it to best. And... it's got a metronome!"
Ah. A metronome. That explains everything.
I am already finding I don't like this smartphone (I am a competent touch typist, so I really hate phone keyboards); but when I get home I realise there is at least one amusing thing I can do with it, so I do this, and then I e-mail d'Artagnan to tell him I have done it.
"I downloaded a new ringtone," I say. "Bach. Sheep May Safely Graze."
It'd have been rude not to.
