The language, that is.
A few weeks ago I remembered the tune that goes with the appearances of Norman (and his bike) in Le Grand Muzzy. And, since it's so infectious, it's easy to remember:
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, doo-doo-doo doo doo doo.
So I've been humming, whistling, tapping... any form of vocalising or eliciting the tune in many different variations (I haven't yet tried it on my glockenspiel, but only because I'm too lazy to extract it from under my bed), often with increasing inversions of pitch and tempo. Truly, I am a musical genius. Innit. And why have I been doing this, you may ask? Simple: I'm absolutely sure it works in any given situation.
This was put to the test on Thursday night. It had been a long day. Quite stressful in parts. Even a little upsetting for no apparent reason. It was just one of... those days. There was, perhaps maybe by the smallest of possibilities really but not really okay really a little masturbation going on that night. By both involved parties. In the same bed at the same time. As I said... long day.
|Oh God, it's HIM again!|
And the answer hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, doo-doo-doo doo doo doo!"