worsening situation

sitting on my bed, reading little JA's Self-Portrait book ("True, there are occasions/ For white uniforms and a special language/ Kept secret from the others. The limes/ are duly sliced" and I have genuine chuckling -- and say, look here! it's meaning!) the church bells a block away begin to chime, and I think wedding, and then they continue to chime, and I think, practice for a wedding? and now, three quarters of an hour, greensleeves, beehoven's ninth, and a few recognizable hymns later, I think someone's going to town on those bells, occasionally an out-of-tune-town, but to town, nonetheless.