On Sunday, there was a musical medley of a concert in Gillingham Park. I didn't need to go to know since I could hear it from inside my house. This was fine when they were playing some folksy English music, reminding me of bands in Simple Simon's pub in Canterbury. It was when they got onto some rapid-fire rap that seemed without rhyme or reason that I was glad not to live next to the park at least. In snatches it could have passed for an overexcited racehorse commentator or a whipsnap auctioneer - those are more an artform that what was like being hammered into submission. Some rap is witty and well-paced, but blabbering at 100mph as if your entire set is the longest word in the world is frankly not pleasurable to my ears. They returned thankfully to some more genteel stuff that one could relax in the countryside (or one's garden), chewing on a long straw of grass, after a few hours. It was a tonic to what had gone before.