I often say that I cannot sing. By way of proof, I admit that the only song I know by heart is the old “Happy birthday to you,” which I find absolutely revolting. But what kind of society makes one admit such a strange thing? Is there anyone who cannot sing? Is there a sane society in which everyone is not a born singer? By way of proof once again, I remember my No. 1 son’s wedding in Motovun only a month ago. At the boisterous party the following day, where boom-boom music reigned until wee hours, I ploughed through the hopping crowd with my hands raised high, and I sang at the top of my voice: “Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooooooh!” My singing was so good, as a matter of fact, that everyone started imitating me. Over and over again. “Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooooooh!” the crowd went. The music to which I cannot sing, and well, does not deserve the name, anyhow.