In my drum

Today's washed-out colours were nicely echoed on the inside of my darbuka.

The drum itself reminds me of sunnier times, when I bought it in Turkey. I remember on the way back from the shop, I lost count of the number of local guys who would sidle up to me, tap the drum and say "aluminium" (in my memory it sounds like alooominnyum) while noddling meaningfully.

But whether they approved of the choice of metal or thought I was a numpty, I've never really been sure.