A Piece of Total Silliness
The names of 41 famous composers (not including Beethoven) are embedded (some more deeply than others) in the following rather unlikely story. Try to find them all – good luck!
Beethoven was in Britain, and decided to go out to the shops. His first stop was an estate agent’s. Entering, he asked, in his bad English: ‘Please – do you stock hausen?’ The agent looked at him, impressed that the great man was in his shop, and turned to his female assistant. ‘Do we have a palace, Trina?’ ‘No no,’ Beethoven insisted quickly. ‘I need a cage for my bird. I don’t want it to be eaten by a wolf.’ Less impressed, the estate agent sent him next door, to the pet-shop. Beethoven explained to the manager there (Jan – a Czech) what he wanted. ‘Ah yes – I think we have just the thing,’ said Jan. He looked around to where a young man was lounging behind the counter. ‘Martin – you!’ he barked at the unfortunate lounger. ‘Go and fetch a large cage, with a big handle.’ While Martin did just what he was told, Beethoven looked around and noticed a little dog in the corner. ‘I like him,’ he told Jan, ‘but does he often bark?’ ‘No, he’s the sort of dog that doesn’t bark a lot,’ replied Jan. ‘Good,’ said Beethoven; ”then maybe I’ll buy him. I haf a cat – and I couldn’t have a dog upsetting de pussy. It’s bad enough that I coup her in my small flat all day’ So Beethoven left the shop with the cage, and the dog trotting at his heels; he consulted his list and went into a cobbler’s. ‘Are you the shoe-man?’ he asked the man at the counter. Without replying, the man called into the back of the shop,’someone about his shoe, Bert!’ Bert came hurrying out. ‘How can I help you, sir?’ he asked. ‘It’s my laces – they’re all ravelled,’ said Beethoven sadly ‘ what a mess I in!’ Bert tactfully ignored his client’s bad English, and looked at the laces. ‘You’re going to have to use the most art you have,’ said Beethoven. ‘Hmm…’ mused Bert, ‘I think I’ll have to ask my assistant. Where’s he hid’n? Honestly,’ he confided in Beethoven,’it’s impossible to get good service these days. .’E’s probably out shoppin’ for his scarlet tea or something weird like that. I told him never to do that ; you can tell a man something till you’re blue in the face – it won’t help you.’ Beethoven sympathised. ‘Ver de blazes is the man?’ he asked. ‘These people – zey have no sense of duty-ugh!’ Just then, the assistant came running in. ‘Sorry,’ he gasped . ‘You’re a block-head, that’s what you are,’ thundered Bert. He turned back to Beethoven. ‘I’m not really a cobbler , anyway; I’d far rather be a purse-seller, but there’s no money in it,’ he moaned. ‘To be frank, my boys have stolen all my money – that they borrowed in trust; my saint sons, I call them. Humph.’ All this gloom was getting too much for Beethoven. He stomped off, intending to go to the barber’s; but finding himself outside a clothes-shop, he looked around furtively and then went in. He went up to the unattended counter. ‘Er – please?’ he asked in a high, embarassed voice. ‘I need some ladies’ underwear.’ A voice came from the back: ‘what size bra, Ms…’ The owner of the voice came out into the shop, and stopped dead. ‘Mr. Beethoven!’ he exclaimed. ‘What an honour to have you here – I adore your music!’ Beethoven looked panic-struck. ‘Thank you, thank you,’he gabbled hurriedly. ‘And of course I was just joking about the ladies’ underwear – bar-talk, you know, hahaha. What I really want is something from that rack, Man Enough clothes; oh, and some really stiff gloves – Hinder-Mitts. For strong men only.’ ‘Nahturallee, sir,’ replied the assistant in his posh voice, trying to impress. ‘And cod I help sir with anything else?’ ‘No thank you,’ said Beethoven. ”Maybe you could just send it to me?’ ‘Most certainly, sir – what is the address?’ ‘4A Brook Street. You know, by the brook near here. And mind that your man doesn’t tip it over the bridge before he gets it to me, hahaha.’ And with that, Beethoven was gone…
