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4'33"
17 Jan 2003

by Primrose Moocow

"That's amazing", opined Jill, walking into the sitting room with her diary in her hand, "If this carries on, I will have to 'phone one or two of our regulars and tell them to hurry up."
Phil grunted softly in reply from his armchair in front of the roaring log fire. He had been humming and sighing, inspired by the sound the logs made.

"I've never had so many forward bookings for Rickyard Cottage," Jill continued, "July's nearly gone already. Have you heard what I just said?" she asked suddenly sharply as she saw him tap his pencil on the arm of the chair, "You've been looking at that score for the best part of the afternoon! Pay attention, this needs thinking about!"
Phil lifted his eyes from the music manuscript, "It's almost there, dear, almost finished, and, if I may say so, it will be a masterpiece," he replied with a fervent distance in his melodious voice.
"For goodness sake, man, writing a bit of musak won't pay towards the Grandchildren's University fees! Come back to reality! If Rickyard's fully booked this year, we might be in the position of turning people away." Jill's voice reached a shrillness that Phil had never heard before.
"What should be our contingency plan if that happens? We can't turn away any forms of income," she shouted as the implications for Brookfield's fortunes implicated themselves.
Phil drew his pencil in two decisive strokes to end his piece.
"That's too easy, dear. If there are more bookings, we buy a caravan."
"What????"
"A caravan. Move David and his family into it and let out Brookfield. Problem solved.
"Now, would you care to read my Opus?" He passed Jill the book.
"But....," said Jill as she looked at it blankly.
"It's for young Christopher Carter. His voice is likely to break soon, and I thought it would be tragic to lose such a pure sound.
"So I've written this piece just for him, and Fallon has offered to arrange a recording. Lads with pure voices sell lots of CDs to our generation, as you know. And this one will be a winner. Just wait."
Jill thought for a while.
"I agree with you about turfing the family out of the farmhouse, love," she said at last, in a more rational voice. "But I have just one question about the composition."
Phil nodded proudly.
"Fire away, love, fire away."
"Yes. I like the key, and I love the tempo. But why aren't there any notes?"
It was Phil's turn to be cross..