I like to think my mind is associative in its operation – but others might, less charitably, compare it to a butterfly or describe me as easily distracted. Being positive, this enables me to make intuitive leaps – and, occasionally, these do not end up with me landing (intuitive) face first on a hard surface. Less positively, it does mean my mind wanders into places where its journey is probably not justified by the source material.
In the first of a new strand, I thought I’d explore some of these journeys to see if, as I rather fear, I am alone…
The Royal Academy is soon to hold an exhibition of drawings by the master of the fête galante style, Antoine Watteau. Unfortunately, whenever I read his name I can’t help but think of P G Wodehouse and the standard greeting between members of the Drones Club. (Well, that or Jules suggesting his work for a bona tattoo for Mr Horne. Very bold!).
Yesterday lunchtime (an illusion I know, but one I am doubly keen to retain) I spent listening to the Britten Sinfonia. For their encore, they played an arrangement of Bach’s Air on a G String (utilising the same forces – mostly electromagnetic – as Schubert required for his Trout Quintet). Sadly, throughout this beautiful piece of music I could only picture Gregor Fisher in the photobooth with a cigar – which would be rather an unexpected end to a game of Cluedo.
Cycling to the gig, I passed a hostelry advertising a forthcoming (always a better use of any marketing spend than a past) event – an Old Skool [sic] Disco. What a debt, I thought, we owe to Nigel Molesworth. However, it struck me that as he was in form 3B in the mid-fifties, disco would seem an unlikely choice – I think the jive or perhaps the cha-cha-cha would be a more historically accurate dance for those claiming St Custard’s as their alma mater.
Many years ago, I worked in the education department of one our red-brick universities. Around the faculty, I kept seeing posters about KS3 Reading (also KS1 and KS2) – and did wonder why the ceremonial county town of Berkshire should loom so large in the National Curriculum.
At the same time, I found myself pondering the ancient oriental art of the tea ching – which I presume (given my limited Chinese) revolves around the examination of tea leaves for predictive ends.
Now, who among us can say, in all honesty, that similar thoughts have not disturbed the equanimity of their own minds? As I thought…