A passing breeze
A good night's sleep and a soporific journey into work. Dawdling vaguely at the ticket barriers in Victoria station I was barged so violently by the small woman following me that I popped out the other side like a cork. This made me feel rather disgruntled.
Due to leg malfunction (which is slowly improving) I spent lunchtime at my desk listening to my iPod. I have loaded so many of my CDs onto it, that occasionally it plays something I don't remember.
Today it played a song by Rachmaninoff called A Passing Breeze (Op.34, No.4) and even though I have no idea what the words mean it absolutely transfixed me. I had bought a CD and listened to it once or twice, and filed it in the "must listen to this improving work again sometime" section. However I repeated this song about five or six times and was spellbound. A singer, I don't even know who, and a accompanying piano and something which sounds to me like meditation on impermanence. I looked up Rachmaninoff on the internet and was interested to discover that he is quite modern; a Russian who died in America in 1943, which probably explains the couple of jazzy chords towards the end. Anyway, I had a really happy half an hour listening to this and watching a rain lash down in a fierce wind over the river.
After work it was a confluence of leaving dos in the Distillers pub around the corner for Ralph, and young Sam who directed my two most recent TV ads. Quite a few ex-colleagues turned up including the young brainiac Hazel who I'd not seen for some time and a good evening drinking was to be had, until the call of the seagull grew strong in me. Bumped into Reuben in Brighton Station who'd been working late on a pitch.
I then stole down to the Chinese takeaway, with a hankering for something oriental. I ate and had a leisurely chat to my Tampa-based correspondent. Then made up a hot waterbottle and fell asleep listening to the wind in the twitten.
A good night's sleep and a soporific journey into work. Dawdling vaguely at the ticket barriers in Victoria station I was barged so violently by the small woman following me that I popped out the other side like a cork. This made me feel rather disgruntled.
Due to leg malfunction (which is slowly improving) I spent lunchtime at my desk listening to my iPod. I have loaded so many of my CDs onto it, that occasionally it plays something I don't remember.
Today it played a song by Rachmaninoff called A Passing Breeze (Op.34, No.4) and even though I have no idea what the words mean it absolutely transfixed me. I had bought a CD and listened to it once or twice, and filed it in the "must listen to this improving work again sometime" section. However I repeated this song about five or six times and was spellbound. A singer, I don't even know who, and a accompanying piano and something which sounds to me like meditation on impermanence. I looked up Rachmaninoff on the internet and was interested to discover that he is quite modern; a Russian who died in America in 1943, which probably explains the couple of jazzy chords towards the end. Anyway, I had a really happy half an hour listening to this and watching a rain lash down in a fierce wind over the river.
After work it was a confluence of leaving dos in the Distillers pub around the corner for Ralph, and young Sam who directed my two most recent TV ads. Quite a few ex-colleagues turned up including the young brainiac Hazel who I'd not seen for some time and a good evening drinking was to be had, until the call of the seagull grew strong in me. Bumped into Reuben in Brighton Station who'd been working late on a pitch.
I then stole down to the Chinese takeaway, with a hankering for something oriental. I ate and had a leisurely chat to my Tampa-based correspondent. Then made up a hot waterbottle and fell asleep listening to the wind in the twitten.
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