If Music be the Food of Love

Play on!

When you read the line by itself it sounds remarkably cheerful, as though whoever said it had drunk just enough to be in a benevolent, expansive mood. You can almost see him raising his wine cup to an imaginary orchestra.

Then you read the rest of the passage, and you wonder why Will insisted on hamartia for his comic heroes. Macbeth does not come across as manic depressive, nor does Othello, nor even Hamlet. But, traitorous though the thought may be, it is very difficult to read Merchant without wishing Antonio would stop being so noble, stop trying to save Shylock's soul, and get himself a life.

That has nothing to do with my life right now. I started with the quote because it's one of the happiest-sounding lines I know, as long as it's read by itself. The imaginary wine cup, the imaginary orchestra.

It's strange, how you discover that some things aren't as bad as they seem. While I would not make a habit of dressing like a prominent member of an underworld chain gang and going about shouting slogans, it is not without its attractions - on occasion. When I did it last night it was rather fun.

So was Welcome Night - or Nite; I don't know how they spell it. What I know about music, other than the spelling, pronunciation and etymology of the word, can be inscribed on a grain of rice with a blunt carving knife. It didn't make too much of a difference, though. I'm sure people who can tell C minor from C major had a nicer evening than I did, but I had, for lack of a better word, fun.

The week ahead is supposed to be the one where you learn how not to read an HR case and still avoid writing a 1000-word assignment in one evening. It seems a remarkably useful thing to learn, rather like the sixth sense some people develop that tells them whether or not there's going to be a quiz on any given day.

Aristotle would say that the expectation causes the quiz. But such accuracy would be a little too much to expect, even of Pythian Apollo.

In the name of Phoebus, then, play on.