Diddly

I can't see diddly.

They head down the mountain, back to base camp, and when they get there they don't say diddly. They don't talk. Not a word, like they're deaf and dumb.

On the handcar mornings or evenings he would amuse his companion by pumping away to a triple-tongued pattern, which he would hum emphatically as they rolled along: "dum diddly diddly diddly diddly diddly diddly dee dee-dum dum diddly diddly diddly diddly diddly diddly dee..."

...When combined with the following picked note, this gives a rhythmic 'diddly-dum' effect.

It's easy enough for him to go “diddly-diddly-diddly-dum” a thousand and one times, whereas with me it's “diddly-diddly-diddly- omigodIcan'tbreathe-dum!”)

"My child is going to be taught all about sex as soon as he can understand. Mother-in-law is always clucking to him about his diddly. No, no, I say, you must call it penis."