TJ's stall has been reinforced and he's not happy about it at all. He actually spent the entire night in it, unable to parade around the aisle creating havoc. I had a full night's sleep, uninterrupted by a crazed visage appearing over my stall guard every five minutes and saying "ARE YA SLEEPIN' AGAIN, OLDMAN?" I'm sure it won't last.
I was supervising the male human while he worked on TJ's stall - I pointed out that he was using the wrong drill bit - he eventually saw the light and went to get another. Then I sorted out the tool box for him while he was gone. I think he was quite surprised when he saw the radical changes I had made.
He and the woman were idly chatting while she did chambermaid duty and he worked on the stall. The conversation turned to the musical tastes of each of the barn inhabitants. My tastes are well known; anything Gregorian goes at the top of my list. I can see myself in a long woolen robe, spending the day chanting in the company of other like -minded individuals. For light listening, I enjoy a bit of Gustav Mahler.
Molly's heroine is Dolly Parton - for whom she is a dead ringer. I can see her in a too-tight, over-the-top evening gown, warbling "Islands in The Stream", half a litre of lipstick on her bulbous muzzle. She would, of-course, open a "Molly-Wood" theme park that featured mainly booths selling fatty foods, and a lake, with truck tire inner tubes, in which to wallow. A place I would never visit.
Doc's tastes are equally easy to pinpoint. Anything heavy metal, or Bruce Springsteen's "Cadillac Ranch" (or any Springsteen song dealing with steel mills closing down). He favourite tunes for humming out on the trail are Stompin' Tom's "Good Old Hockey Game" or "Sudbury Saturday Night". He loves the lyric "Ohhhh, da girls are playin' bingo and da boys are gettin' stinko" from the latter song, which he repeats over and over and over, ad nauseum.
TJ knows very little of anything musical but heard a recording of AC/DC - some sort of electrician's orchestra - and he's very taken with "Dirty Deeds" and "Highway to Hell". Why am I not surprised. I tried to introduce him to some light opera but he rolled his eyes back in his head, stuck out his tongue and said "Blehhhhhh" before galloping off with a flick of his tail.
There you have it - a bout of silliness from humans grown addled by winter. But, addled though they are, they know to never leave a rock station on in my barn. I smashed the radio at the last place and since then it's been strictly classical.