The Music didn't Stop for Red

We all have certain pieces of music which we connect with certain places.
 

When I hear Roadhouse Blues played by the Doors, I am seeing streets in suburban London passing by swiftly, semi-detached redbrick houses in the sunshine and lots of black people in the streets. I am feeling the swerve of the car as we go through a roundabout, and I am being cooled on a hot summer’s day by the air drawn in through the open sliding doors of a Comer van.

The year is 1970. I was seventeen. Together with a friend I was hitchhiking in northern Europe. We had made it to London, and it was when we were leaving London that we had the chance of getting a lift with a tradesman.

We had a small cassette recorder with us and in London we had just bought this new Doors record, Morrison Hotel. The driver noticed our recorder and asked for some music. We listened to it for the first time.

“Turn it up”, the driver said. “More”, he added.  And with the volume at maximum we drove through the suburbs of London.  The first track was Roadhouse Blues. I think we listened to the whole record twice, before we were dropped near a motorway from where we could look for a lift to the coast and a ferry to the Continent.

To this day, this song brings pictures of driving through London suburbs in hot summer sunshine to my mind.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XWQrt00_NM

The Demoralizing Effect of Roadside Speed Indicators

The legs felt good. Of course I was tired, but I felt I was still able to put quite some force into it. Had been on my racing bike for about two hours and was getting close to home. I felt strong and good.

That’s when I heard the voice in my head – the inner commentator set off: 

 

And here’s the Sky train. They are keeping a tremendous pace to secure this stage for Cavendish. But what’s that. Who’s that on the other side of the road? It’s Pulo! Pulo looks to be taking this stage. Isn’t it just amazing? He won the time trial, he took two of the toughest mountain stages. He has the Yellow Jersey, he has the Polka Dot Jersey, and if he gets this stage, he can add the Green Jersey to his collection. Isn’t it just fantastic!

And bear in mind. All this after being his country’s top goal scorer at the soccer world championships earlier in the summer. Who doesn’t remember how he was changing from this football outfit into this bicycling outfit, hanging high in the air after being parachuted over the starting area for the Tour de France prologue in order to be in time for the Grand Départ? The crowd is going to love .......

I noticed a light flashing at the roadside. It wasn’t the photographers. It was an amber light. And there was a sign saying:

Vous roulez à 22 km/h. Or in English : you are moving forward at a speed of 22 kilometres an hour. After this sign there was another sign. Heimdorf it said.

I was back where I belonged.

The Sound of Europe Changing

Not long ago I was on a ferry –crossing from Dover to Dunkerque.

We were welcomed over the ferry’s intercom system. Safety instructions were given.

First in English. Then in French (after all we were on a crossing to France). Then in POLISH and, as the last language, in German.
 

It does not seem many years ago that we looked at unfamiliar number plates when going down the German motor ways, and discovered that they were Polish. And now Polish is slowly becoming a part of the public European soundscape. Most of us do not understand the language, but many of us have reached the point where we can identify it.

So, welcome to the sound of Polish. And to the Poles, of course.

Congratulations Sir, you're pregnant

My father told me this story.

It must have taken place in the 50’s or 60’s.

A professional cyclist had a call from the anti-doping authorities. Congratulations Sir, you’re pregnant, the official said on the phone.

He had been in a race and had been selected for doping control. This included an analysis of his urine. And now they had the result.

This is what had happened. During the race he had a small bag with a urine sample on him. It was fixed under one of his armpits so as to attain his body temperature.

The sample, of course, was not his urine - It was his wife’s.

NB! I don’t know if this is a true story. Does anybody know?

A Heart Percieved

“And what do you want to do, when you finish your studying?”, she asked. She was an old woman and had been invited as a guest lecturer. She had talked about her life. She had been the first woman in the country to be allowed to study medicine and practice as a doctor. She had been in the resistance, and she had been in the socialist movement. A very interesting story of hardship, struggle and progress had she delivered.

We were standing together the three of us. As soon as the lecture was over, we had left to buy some bottles of beer for the evening. It was on our way back to the students’ hall that we came across her, and she stopped us and addressed us.

“And what do you want to do, when you finish studying”, she asked.

John was the first to answer. “I want to study medicine like you.  When you see the misery and suffering in the Third World, you realise that you could really make a difference by working there.”

Peter went next. He wanted to study biology. The consumer society was devastating the world. Global Warning was not on the agenda yet, but there were of course many other causes for alarm. “We need somebody in this field, who do not just work to amass as much money as possible, but who wants to work in the interest of the environment”, he concluded.

She then turned and looked at me. I couldn’t resist and said: “I don’t know yet, but I really don’t care, as long as there’s some money in it.”

“You’re lying”, she said. “I can see straight through you. You think with your heart, not your brain.”

The Star or the Story

 Some years ago I listened to a talk show on a French radio station. The guest was a well-known film director.

He was asked about his thoughts on film critics and reviewers. He didn’t think highly of them.  Here is what he did, whenever a new film of his was released:

He would go to a cinema. He would not go on one of the first days after a release, but would wait till the critics, columnists and other professionals had been to see the film.  He would wait until the “ordinary” film-goers filled the auditorium.

He would not go in to watch the film, but would wait in the hall outside the auditorium for people to come out after the show. He would stand a bit aside, so as not to be noticed. And then he would listen to people talking together when leaving the cinema.

If they said things like “Oh! X is such a fantastic actor. He has never been better than in this movie.” Or “I really love Y. Her performance was one worthy of an Oscar”, he knew he had not succeeded in making the film, he wanted to make.

If, on the other hand, they said things like: “How could a mother do this to her own daughter?”. Or “A man like that should not be allowed to walk around freely”. Or “I thought she would never have the courage to tell him the truth”. He knew that he had succeeded  in making his film the way he wanted it.

NB! I forgot, which director it was. Does anybody know? Could it have been Claude Chabrol?