It’s funny how a song I don’t particularly like, and whose lyrics I can’t hear or follow, can suddenly feel so appropriate for the moment without any explanation.
I have a backlog of books I’ve been meaning to write something about. The library keeps sending me emails saying they’re due back in a few days, and I can no longer renew them. Several have already gone back but I made some notes about them—passages I liked, particularly poignant themes, that sort of thing—so one of these days I’ll write a review or reaction. There’s also a pile of chocolate bar wrappers that I want to make notes on. (Sneak preview: Ghirardelli Intense Dark tastes like purple, and is one of my top three favourites now.)
For today, for those interested, the play I described two weeks ago turned out to be Romanoff and Juliet, by Peter Ustinov. It’s a comedic clash between East and West (cold war style) in a fictitious country of Europe:
You will find us only onthe very best atlases, because we are the smallest country left in Europe—and when I say country, I don’t mean principality or grand duchy. I don’t mean a haven for gambing or income tax evasion—I mean self-respecting country which deserves, and sometimes achieves, a colour of its own on the map—usually a dyspeptic mint green, which misses the outline of the frontier by a fraction of an inch, so that one can almost hear the printer saying damn.
– The General, Act I
Unfortunately, complimentary to the mediocre song that suddenly sounds perfect, this favourite play of mine didn’t quite live up to its memory. I suppose that’s to be expected—one’s tastes change. We see things where there was nothing before, and we see nothing where we once thought there was something.