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Snippet (iv) Winter Garden

I sat for half an hour in Sheffield’s Winter Garden this afternoon.

There was a music festival happening.

While I read one of the books I had just bought from Waterstones ‘The Origin of (almost) Everything’, I listened to a young guy playing a bassoon. I haven’t ever seen a bassoon played live before. I have no doubt listened to it mixed-into classical orchestral music.

This was a solo. He sounded beautiful. Like a swan, a goose, an oboe and someone in mourning.

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