I stayed in the car while they went in to shop.
I was tired,and needed to get some sleep.
So, relaxing in the front seat, I pressed the button
to retune the radio, from the r & b my travelling
companions favoured to a symphony;
then I shut my eyes.
They came back in half an hour,
laden down with bags, and high from the neon hustle
of a supermarket on a Friday night. "Ah, opera!"
one shrieked. "Ah, look at him, so cultured,
such an old man dozing in his seat!"
My peace was gone. As we drove out she reached
between my arms and pressed the tuner until
the r & b came back. Its slow beat and soul vocals
counterpoised. "That's better. No more of that
artsy-fartsy noise." And the rest seemed to agree
with her. The unease that had greeted Amadeus
at Sainsbury's vanished in a careless rhyme.
I am too English. I couldn't tell them
they reminded me of children stuffed narcoleptic
with Coke and crisps on a long trip home
from seeing grandparents. I couldn't say
how much I wanted her to get out of my car
for her bristling aversion to Mozart's higher art.
And so we drove on through Northampton streets,
my travelling companions hypnotised
by the trilling harmonies and the easy grooves
oozing from the radio. And I not speaking.
Perhaps we'd make the drive-thru
before we started dropping people off.
