Dear me. What worthy, turgid stuff!
I’m reminded of the music classes at my 50s grammar school. We also “did” Haydn. To extinction. The aesthete Mr Eaton put a nail on some erratic 78s. This caused a lurching seasick noise with the ambient sound of a frying egg. Poor Mr Eaton was on a Haydn to nothing, as we fell off our chairs laughing.
We didn’t “do” the Beatles. They were banned. Too much fun. We tried to grow mop tops to drive the High School girls mad with desire. To very little avail. This was also banned. We were carted off to matron, who came down on our trespassing tresses like Delilah on Samson’s.
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