Today, I had a painter in doing the preparatory work on my kitchen ceiling, prior to his return tomorrow to do the final coat.
Depressing, in several ways, the greatest of them all being that this is the first time in my life that I have had to employ someone to do it for me: I simply lack the physical strength to do it myself. This is seriously not fun. My mind goes back to the many times that I painted the interior of my original pad in Scotland, and the later one here in Spain. It was hard labour working above my head, but I actually kinda enjoyed doing the walls; it was probably mildly therapeutic. Oh well, both now beyond me.
After the guy left, I felt the need to lift my spirits a bit, and so giving the almost perpetual Spotify a rest, I had a browse through my collection of CDs and discovered a long-forgotten triple box of Glenn Miller standards. Wow. How touching and sweet it was hearing again the sound of Moonlight Serenade… It’s difficult to reconcile the disappearance of those sorts of bands with the much more frenetic if vacuous music that came after rock ‘n’ roll. I wonder how many people under forty have even heard of Miller, or have the slightest idea of what became of him?
