A great authority on singing once wrote that when Everyman sang in his bath, it was Caruso whom he fancied he heard.- Frank Johnson, Best Seat in the House (not actually about music, ironically enough)
Which invites the question: when Everyman reviews his day's blog activity [ahem... - Eds.] whose work does he imagine he is reading? Nabokov? Fitzgerald? That idiot Joyce?
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