There was a general consensus in the whole street: Finlay, who lived with his wife at Number 45, was a crackpot. Since he’d found religion things had gone from bad to worse. It culminated when he brought home a coffin, set it up on his front lawn, and would lie in it with a sign that read: WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE. He would then start preaching – every day – from door to door, and it was driving the neighbours bonkers.
To be particularly fastidious, it wasn’t really a street; it was a cul-de-sac, a short street with a round-about at one end. Everyone knew everyone else. It was a close-knit community and Findlay’s “conversion” was catastrophic – sort of like a woodpecker turning up to a lumberjacks’ convention.
And suddenly the whole cul-de-sac went crazy. Everyone began to play their music at top volume, booming it out from house to house. Mrs Bronson not only played Saint-Saëns’ The carnival of the animals full tilt, but she coupled it with playing on the piano Mozart’s Piano Sonata in G Major.
Andy Summers played Frank Sinatra’s I did it my way over and over. And few really minded when young Tommy Gloucester’s sophisticated sound gear broadcast the Dead Kennedys’ Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables fortissimo (which Ms Nancy Smith of Number 28 considered “very yesterday”).
There wasn’t a house on the cul-de-sac that wasn’t broadcasting. And all because Finlay’s wife was busy with a hammer. Everyone somehow had to drown out the banging emanating from Finlay’s front lawn.
And now the end is near
And so you face the final curtain
My Finlay, I’ll say it clear,
You’ll die my way
Thud…thud…thud
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That is sooo cruel! I love it!
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I haven’t seen Finlay around for a few days. I wonder where he is?
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You were in the neighbourhood too! What did you play? I played some indie rap/folk with electronica influences because I found most of the other stuff too derivative!!
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I played Peter, Paul, and Mary’s “If I had a Hammer”.
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I used to listen that song a lot when I was young! I’ve only heard the Wanda Jackson version though.
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I don’t know the Wanda Jackson version at all!!
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He’s away visiting relatives.
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I dug out some old Jean Michel Jarre, but it got drowned in the cacophony.
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I was too busy listening to The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
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If they could have gotten her to hammer to a specific beat, it might have been more melodious.
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Perhaps, if it was near Christmas, she could have hammered to “Little Drummer Boy”.
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Bruce…
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How about some Simon & Garfunkel? “Hello darkness, my old friend.”
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Strangely his wife’s name was Cecilia (or it is now) and she was breaking his heart.
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Quite literally.
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Where was his wife? Was it bury one, get one free?
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What a mayhem! It’s a certain recipe for death by cacophony for the entire cul de sac.
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It was starting to sound a bit like a certain large cricket stadium crowd.
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…in India!
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