Red Carpet Club, Heathrow.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and outside it is cold.
The taxi left Chez Horse, in Chiswick, punctually at 07.30. The taxi-driver's radio station of choice was the BBC World Service, a decision I supported & commended. Traffic going west on the M4 was flowing well but the east-bound carriageways were beginning to slow: an accident involving a taxi in the taxi lane. In a complex system, one small detail affects the whole; two vehicles in collision, miles of traffic congestion results. But when it works, it works. My journey to Heathrow this morning worked.
- Backtracking --
Monday 1st. March:
The journey from the hotel to the Gare du Nord, Eurostar from Paris to London, taxi from Waterloo to Chiswick, also worked and worked well. Driving through the rush hour in Central London: no congestion on our journey. Hooray! For Ken, then. From an a-political viewpoint, I see political achievement in the success of small things; in the efficient functioning of the commonplace.
08.55 Now, immediately behind me in the computing section of the Club, sits Mr. Sniff-Gurgley. He has been chomping & chewing loudly on a bag of chompy chewy things, and is now checking to see if his internal plumbing system operates at a sufficient amplitude to disgust any fellow-traveller within honking range. Now, a good exgustation of personal nose & throat detritus while rattling the plastic of new bags of chomping items about-to-be-chomped upon.
09.08 Honk. Snort. Sniff. Gurgle.
I have appealed to Branford Marsalis & Claude the Frenchy: Arabesque No.1. Debussy was a powerful influence on my period as an out-of-work professional musician. Where did this music come from? Alternatively, how did that music get to Debussy and from Debussy to the world? Sheer bewilderment. When I stand in front of music of such power, I can only acknowledge I know nothing, I am nothing, wonderment! gratitude! What must it have been in 1893 to hear those opening notes of l'Apres Midi? Listening to them this morning, using them to repulse the plumbing noises emerging from Mr. Sniff-Gurgley, it may be trivializing Claude's heroism but - hey! - take that Sniff-Gurgley, ill-bred ill-mannered scion of a nose-dropping.
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