Tis true, nothing does compare to languidly reclining whilst one dearly loved caresses you inner ear hole with the soothing sounds of a recorder. Just look at this Pre-Raphaelite-cum-hippy filth cover and you just want to grab them grapes and squeeze. This is one of the lesser known in that pagan loving, olde tymey, return to the Earth Limey brilliance that readers around here seem to fetishize. But really, if you're not up for some fluting than forget it. But back on that cover. Doesn't that really seem like such a charming way to pass some sunny fall day?
Here (reuped 7/19/12)