Chapter 3 - I Say!
Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be in the epicentre of a hurricane? Spinning objects materials animals ideas hurtling through an infinity of indeterminate space. Space itself distorting in the white heat of a creative explosion.
“Ducky Ducky where for art thou Ducky?”
“Here Lewie, I’m over hererererererere”
“God Almighty! What have we done?... Not sure I can stand the intensity! IT’S BURNING MY EARS!”
“Stand back gentlemen, the moment of music cricket melding is very nearly upon us!” “Oh! Ouch! That smarts!”
“Don’t panic sirs, we can rebuild it! We shall overcome!”
“One day we are the diddy men… I am the walrus! Never say never again, again, AGAIN”
“Proceed with countdown to the birth of eclectisismismism… Ten!”
“Are you sure this is a good idea Lewis?”
“I’m beginning to have second thoughts about this Duckworth.”
“Hold your nerve gentlemen!... Seven… rolling tape… Six!”
“But what if it doesn’t work?”
“If it doesn’t work this bunker will become a counter-spiral-noise-inversion-vortex.
“Beg your pardon!”
“Three… It means we’ll all die!... Two…”
“I say!”, exclaimed Mr.Duckworth.
“Well I never!”, stuttered I.
“Good God, it’s only gone and bloody worked!”, cried a jubilant Professor Method. Music, yes actual music was emanating from two large black boxes on his desk.
“The equations said it would but I never honestly believed them”.
“You mean to say you fully expected us to go up in a puff of counter-spiral-whatnot?!”, quoth a flabbergasted yours truly.
“Why yes…didn’t you?”
“NO, of course I didn’t you madman!”, I lunged forward and grabbed the fellow by the lapels shaking him violently. But even as I shook with rage the sweet tones of ‘’Rain Stops Play” overtook me and I gradually lowered a sheepish looking Method to the ground.
“Well”, I sighed, dusting him down and patting him on the shoulders, “I don’t suppose it matters now. Listen, just listen to it.”
All three men sat back and drank in wave after wave of delicious sound. The parping of the bassoonaphones. The galloping of the French buffalo drum. The ping pang pong of the angelic microfoil. Aye, it was very heaven to be there in that cramped underground laboratory. We tried to take in the ramifications of our breakthrough. What would it mean for music? What would it mean for society? What would it mean for cricket?! Would it at last spell the end of the hated international music league? How would it impact the dreaded summer vestibules? It all remained to be seen. Right now though, we could simply wallow in our own greatness, and look forward to many weeks of intense sound capturing.