Joan had to control her distain for the station it was permanently tuned in to, she was irritated.

 

“Nonsense,” she grimaced.

The radio was perched so high, for so long ago, a ladder had to be used to turn it over, and the handy man, Larry, was notoriously slow. Joan at least had the view from this lounge, so she endured.

Other than that, Joan loved the home, being one of the last in her company to get a full retirement package; eager to live here as long as she could. In the cosy day-lounge, Joan was alongside people she couldn’t afford to live next door to; she’d finally levelled-up.  

 

An irritating advert on the radio, reminded Joan she never hated the music her son practised. Joan remembered how often her sons would make the neighbours in the middle of the night.

“The drums,” Joan remembered.

Joan wondered if a quick burst of the kind of music her son used to play would be nice to hear on that blessed radio.

She couldn’t remember what it was called, but could remember her two sons played music on tours, calling her up in the night from some strange foreign places.

“Ho, there were two,” recalled Joan.

When one of her sons visited last, he argues with the staff about the radio station we listen to, making a nuisance of himself. Joan turned away from the shelf with more ease, unable to block out the thought of lightly buttered toast that the commercial put in her mind.

 

“Welcome back Dunces! Toby here on the morning breakfast show, ha!  What a great day…! Even though it’s raining out there! Here at dunce FM the sun always shines because we always play great music, ha!. I hope that commercial wasn’t too long but we’re back to the music now so relax, ha! You heard this song not long before the break, so time we heard it again, ha! So, here it is, again. ‘Let’s turn the music up cos I can hear myself thinking’ by gormless George, enjoy.”

 

While the song played, Joan thought of sharing hot cross buns with her son when he visits next,

“Which one?” Joan blurted.

“Which what?” Alfred bellowed; a rare effort of interaction on his part.

“Of my sons is coming to visit next!” Joan cloaked loudly.

“Oh,” Alfred said, looking back to the radio.

 

“Welcome back. I never get sick of that song, even if I hear it twenty times a morning, ha! Don’t you think? It’s a great song, once you get used to it, ha!. Remember to contact us on the Faceache page. Ok, it’s five past the hour so time for our morning quiz…”