Posts Tagged ‘Pablo Casal’

Pardon me Sir; your lack of paragraphs is showing.

January 24, 2016
Just glorious.

Just glorious.

The Salvation Army in Bowral has moved to the main shopping street. They used to be behind the railway line in an industrial area. Some shopkeepers are miffed. They feel it lowers the standard and tone of the main street. They are also scared many shoppers will get bargains in all sorts of fashionable up market brands for just a couple of dollars. A few days ago, we went there to check it out. Checking things out is what we often do. It passes the time and soothes pain.

I bought a two disc C-D of Pablo Casals’ suit of six suites ‘pour violoncelle by J.-S. Bach.’  They were in mint condition for $2.-.  Not even a finger print on them.  I now play the music while trying to find breaks in “Almost There.” and insert a new paragraph. Unfortunately, the Salvo’s are out of paragraphs but still have boxes of commas, and some semi-colons left.  Check it out!

You know, there is a lot of things to learn when writing. I am ashamed to admit that I was totally outside the loupe when it came to inserting all those exclamation marks. It gets worse. I did not even know that many of those marks come after full stops. The full stops must have felt so insulted, getting dragged behind. I do feel sorry. I am still unsure (unsicher) about a capital letter needed after the semi-colon or not. Is it legal to alternate and please both options? Consistency is what is required.

From “Almost There.”

As I motor-biked past a car sales yard, I noticed a large car for sale amongst many others. This car was a powder blue colour. Its chrome glimmered seductively. They say men fall in love with cars. Even the primates shown recently on TV, the male gets drawn to anything with wheels while the female ape cuddles dolls. What hope have we got? As a male homo sapient, men might as well do away with free choice when a car sales yard beckons us more than a bevy of dolls. I mean what could be nicer than cuddling a doll? Yet, it is the hot embrace of high revving steel pistons and killer speeds that men seem to be drawn to. The smarmy salesman saw me coming looking out from his little window inside his pigeon-hole office overlooking his domain of gaping cars. The perfect customer. A young man on the hunt for his first car.

‘Care to take a closer look,’ the man said while consolidating his opinion of me. He had seen so many come and go that day but not many young ones. He could tell, having honed his car salesmanship at his previous sales yard along Parramatta Rd called ‘Pacific cars is Terrific’. He had broken the back of many a customer’s reluctance. He knew the ropes and his cars, and was keenly sought after around the car-yard precincts of Sydney. The year would have been around 1961/62. I had gone through a Lambretta scooter after which I bought an ex-police bike with side-car in which I used to go rabbit and fox hunting with my brother John. John was very tall, over two metres. I don’t know how we fitted tent, two rifles and big John in the outfit but we must have. When one is young matters of comfort are hardly ever considered. When getting to my present age, comfort is all and sleeping in a tent gets a bit hazardous with serpents and crocodiles around, huge poisonous cane toads that can kill by leaving a slimy substance. After seventy, the inner spring mattress beckons like a nun waiting for her habit.