Alive with the sound of music

Your computer security says no threats have been found – this time. Like we are half expecting there might be and if not now, then don’t get too smug because the future lies ahead and who knows what lies within it.

Don’t you wish you’d never asked?

But of course you didn’t, wouldn’t ever, don’t believe in inviting trouble in.

The system does it automatically, giving reassurance that is curiously unsettling.

Like when the doctor says nah, nothing to worry about – and then adds still we’d better keep an eye on it.

Yet when the WOF bloke says your car’s good to go, you do go, happy even though you must return in six or 12 months and maybe something will be wrong then. But good to go is good to go. We have more faith in cars and dentists who say all set, than we have in computers and doctors whose okay is of necessity hinged with some doubt that is oddly discomforting.

Sorry: I sidetracked when the computer said no threats found. Yet.

What I really wanted to tell you about was last weekend when I was stricken with some malaise of the vocal cords which meant I could not talk.

I know; joy all round; nothing wrong with my hearing.

We listened to much of our favourite music over two or three days between Irish duo Foster and Allen at the packed Civic, gallery and all, and then some marvellous country music at the Gold Guitars in Gore.

Buskers on the street deserve our thanks, brightening things up even if sometimes we have only their courage to applaud.

But on the main street, in the heart of Gore on Friday, there was real talent on show.

And in categories dubbed somewhat gracelessly plugged and unplugged, we heard voices we hope to hear again, instruments too.

My throat felt harsh and dry but I sang with you, every song all the way in my head and in my heart.

Thanks to you all it was just such a memorable weekend.

I felt we celebrated Her Majesty’s birthday right royally with songs and spangles, an Irish flute, fringing, stamping boots in cold and cheer, recognising the talents we have right here.

Till next year . . .