Which means I don’t think about London much anymore.
I mean, when it comes up part of me hears the echo of that longing to be there, amongst the history, stories and life.
(And the strawberries. Greatest strawberries I’ve ever had)
But it’s a fleeting attack of wondering.
We made our choice when confronted with that junction - left to London, right to Melbourne.
But they’re still ‘different’ in a world driven by people that value ‘sameness’.
So the sheer power of them buying a ticket and going to the movies with their friends and seeing people on the screen that kinda look like their dad, or their grandfather, or their uncles, or their cousins, or themselves…that’s a power that cannot be explained.
It’s the power to strip people of their status as The Other.
But there’s no denying it - there are a number of songs that will have my feet dragging me, unwillingly, to the dance floor.
And once there, they’ll conspire with my hips, shoulders and hands to try and create some sort of coherent pattern of movement vaguely connected to the music.
It doesn’t always work - but it’s damned fun to try.
Where was I?
Oh yes, floundering around looking to learn the words and perspective necessary to deal with the inevitability of true loss.
And with one of the artists I’ve previously used to short-circuit my own emotional education suffering the truest of losses.
I now understand, of course, that they weren’t allowed the ‘luxury’ of being angry.
That showing that kind of emotion would immediately and unfairly undermine their screamingly legitimate complaints.
Isn’t it grimly funny the way those in power use accusations of anger to diminish the complaints of those without power? Lucky that’s changed…
It means that details – millimetres, clearances, timber types, grain direction, etc – are terribly important.
And it was this precision that I found so intimidating.
I could measure something twice and get three results. I’d get tangled in the specifics of task and over-think it so much that it’d result in errors on errors on errors.
One of my favourite things about my runs to Maryborough – besides the biscuits and finding crumbs in my shirt on the long drive home, with an embarrassed smile and lick of the thumb to get them all – is the drive.
It sits between Bendigo and Ballarat, so it’s off the main highways.
