Diamonds, I assure you, are not merely a girl’s best friend. There are, in fact, only three diamonds in this house, and they all belong to a man. A balding analogue saddo, perhaps, but still a man. Mind you, the diamonds are tiny. Very tiny. Microscopic, you might say. And they are very carefully cemented on to the ends of tiny metal shafts. They are loved not for their visual beauty, but for other aesthetic qualities. In short, the sound they make.
The sound that comes out when the diamond descends very slowly, slower than even gravity would allow, a controlled descent in fact, and catches the one-way groove pressed into a piece of black plastic 12 inches in diameter. The groove is a continuous one, and the diamond is carried along the furrow, singing its little heart out, giving its best rendition of the musical language that was imprinted into the plastic by genius.