We sang about cocks, didn't we?, W. asks me the next day. He's full of remorse. Once again, we went too far, he says. Our host had a guitar; we were to sing together, to share the songs of our countries, our childhoods. We were to sing, as Canadians like to do after dinner. For a Canadian, W. explained to me, it's only natural to sing after dinner. To sing, and to listen to others sing, and perhaps to learn new songs, and perhaps to teach songs to others.
But what did we sing? What songs did we send floating up into the night? Songs about cocks, W. says. Songs in which we replaced one key word with the word, cock. We drowned them out in our excitement, the Canadians. We drowned them out in our hilarity. We've let ourselves down again, W. says. He's let himself down. Wasn't he supposed to be the sensible one in our party? Didn't he feel himself personally responsible for our behaviour?
Lars Iyer's Blog 