Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Is it just the intense loneliness of Christmas (my Christmas), or is it that enough (more than enough) days of my own company bring me closer to the 'edge' than normal.?
Fleetingly, on the perimeter of my attention I caught a TV advertisement of a 'new' singer, singing "Without a song".
For anyone not of my generation, this will mean nothing, but for me it sent my memories spinning back down the years to my earliest childhood, when this song was part of my father's standard repertoire.
There were others. "Trees", and badly out of tune hummed or whistled, Mozart's Eine Kleine Nacht Music.
We would groan at him to spare our ears, but were secretly quite pleased by his obvious enjoyment of the music of his choice.
"Without a Song" is the one piece I have never heard from those far-off days until today, so all the more nostalgic.
Having blogged my heart out in recent days, due to the inordinate amount of time with absolutely nothing else to do, and with far less than the usual amount of response, comments etc. I have once again found a piece of nothing of great importance to write about.
Amazing isn't it, how such dross can stir either immediate and tumultuous reactions, or elicit no response whatsoever.
Bye the way, my excuse for drinking a large glass of port half-way through the afternoon is that I have no excuse whatsoever!
