Posted by: Sam Olsen | October 13, 2011

The Chronicles of Larry 8: Feel the power

My greatest fear is being bored. Oh, and too much sleep. Sometimes – in fact, most times these days – I wake up gripped with panic. Have I slept too long? What is there to do? I definitely need some action in my life. So I make a noise that no one can ignore.

I especially love it when Dad comes in looking like he’s an extra from Day of the Dead. Normally when he looks like this it’s early – say, 5am, although because I can’t tell the time yet I have to rely on his rantings for this – and he smells of something. Not quite sure what it is, but I think it comes from a bottle.

Because I love it when this particular scenario pans out, I make sure that I’m on shouty form every Sunday morning. No chance of too much sleep or being bored then, I can tell you. And because the lovely Tessie is not here on Sundays, I get to see Dad the entire time. Sometimes I see Mum too, but she normally says something to Dad – not sure what, but it is normally in a mumbled but very loud way – and hey presto! Dad instantly returns.

The other day we had been playing for a good four hours. “It’s 9am now, we might as well go to Church” said Dad. Yippee, I thought, a change of scene – there’s only so many times I can sit on the floor and practice playing ‘Being Quiet’, and I always lose it anyway.

I hadn’t seen Mum yet, but I heard her when Dad went back into his bedroom for a few minutes to get changed. Something about sleep, not enough of it, deserves better, but she really needs to shout clearer. So we headed down to St John’s. Dad was carrying me – as he should – as we staggered into the building, tripping on a step. Be careful, I hollered! He didn’t seem to care. So much for my golden future.

No sooner had we sat down when the bloke at the front got on his microphone. I was busy smiling at all the Filipinas around us but I heard what he said: today’s service was being recorded for use on the radio later that morning. Well, imagine the audience I could have. I was so excited by this I let out a huge  scream. Dad twitched. I did it again. He twitched again. This was fun, until he took me outside. There were not so many people there though, so I got bored. But there didn’t seem much point in saying anything, so I kept quiet. We went back inside. Great; I reached out to my expanded audience again through the medium of yell. Dad retreated back out of the door. A load of party-poopers told us to be quiet. Dad went scarlet.

All in all, we repeated this about half a dozen times. I loved every second. But there is a sad end to the tale. Apparently there was so much shooshing by the no-fun people around us that the audio was quite ruined. That will teach those spoil sports to tell me what to do. It wasn’t like we were breaking the law or anything, and if they hadn’t said anything then the radio would have been full of organ and me, and what more could the listeners have wanted?

Loud things make great companions. And the earlier the better.

Loud yet cool

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