Harold jerked awake. He'd been dreaming of an orchestra playing Mussorgsky's little known piece “After the Witches went to Bed” (written posthumously) and woken to the full orchestral experience of Lucy playing a kazoo she'd found in a packet of Foxy Frosted Flakes. Whatever happened to the gifts that used to be in packets of cereal? Plastic Spacemen and cardboard cut-outs from Dr Who? Even the tea bags were sadly devoid of collector's cards these days. If it didn't go beep kids weren't interested, with the exception of Lucy and her kazoo. “That's enough for now, Lucy. You wouldn't want the wear it out, would you?”
She took the instrument from her lips to examine.“How would it wear out?”
“They have a limited number of blows before they're no good anymore.” Three with a hammer should do it.
She looked suspicious. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, love. Would I lie to you?”