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COPYRIGHT 2005 The Spectator Ltd. (UK)
I have no vivid musical experiences this month with which to divert or instruct. Rather than cancel, I'll spin something out of nothing: an invisible gymslip if not an Emperor's coronation robe. The sensory impact most vivid by far has been a shattering blow to the lower left jaw. Biting not wisely but too well on a parsnip at college lunch three weeks ago, I felt a crack that opened up a lane to the land of the dead. The root vegetable, usually so pliable, had been roasted to the consistency of teak (what it tasted like I didn't stay to ask). Whether or not to designate this misfortune occasioned in the course of duty an 'industrial accident' and sue the college (somehow taboo, to accuse one's alma mater--sort of incestuous); or at least to pass them the dental bill (it'll take several years'-worth of the frugal payments for these monthly columns to match the...
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