I know full well that it is only the most erudite of folks who read this blog, only the most intelligent of the intelligentsia who subscribe to my ramblings, but there may be a visitor who did not recognise the quotation I attached to Friday’s picture of Gordon’s hallowed Wine Bar. It is from Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of England and, specifically, its description of what our life is.
If you love wine and quirky surroundings (and wine in quirky surroundings) as I do and have not been to Gordon’s then I highly recommend it. I have taken many people there, bumped into many more, and the only advice I can offer is to go there with a clear evening and a full wallet (or generous friend), for it has a gravitational pull.
Talking of which, I decided early on Friday that I was going to fight against the pull of grief and the gravity of despair concerning what happened to Giles, and instead immerse myself in my work and other pleasures (note: work is included as a pleasure), savouring the moments. In the blandest sense it’s what he would have wanted, but more immediately I doubt for a second that any of us would want those we leave behind not to treasure every moment.
I carved out some string parts for my saxophonist colleague, sent off a recording of Brindisi to act as a template for speeds and the like, caught up with a bit of writing and blogging, and loved every second. A neighbour also called round unexpectedly to check that we were okay because in my distraction on Thursday evening I had left my keys in the door – she checked the door was closed, popped the keys through the letter box and then returned to make sure that everything was in order. That would never have happened in Mitcham.
I have written before about gravity, and know that others out there experience it as well, but it is always worth making the decision to fight it. Mors longa, vita brevis and all that, or, more immediately, what is the point of flying through the feasting hall if one does not remember to experience – fully experience – its warmth?