I love this song so much and it describes the female psyche so much. Especially the delightful ending!
So fun!! Although my fate-line is short…at least it is a little point on my hand.
Irving, when you come, we have to dance like this all around the island! You have to do the twirl with me! Please watch and MASTER the video VERY carefully. Haha!
And if you complain, please note that at least I did not tell you to learn this one:
Ce Soir ou Jamais!
It seems a waste of time, to think about you
But, i want to keep you mine, all the time
I don’t really want to remember you
It’s embarassing, I mean, grinning to myself
Even thought you’re coming home late, tired of hard work all night
you took me in your arms, I could feel it, even in my dreams
I miss you so much
I couldn’t feel more helpless
I miss you so much
I will always love you
Do you know, what I wished for, that night,
When we were driving on your motorbike?
Do you know, that I saw our happiness in the sky
We looked up together?
you took this one ‘me’ lying there
made her beautiful, always supporting her
I miss you so much
I don’t want to be away from you
I miss you so much
I will always love you
I miss you so much
I couldn’t feel anymore helpless
I miss you so much
I’ll always love you.
I have been listening to a whole lot of Carmen Mcrae recently. I really love her music.
Inside a silent tear, I have a silent dream
That sometimes sails across the patterns of my mind.
The silence follows me and dreams just disappear
and then I find myself inside a silent tear
Sometimes I laugh too much
to hide the emptiness,
to lose the loneliness.
I’m not the laughing kind.
I can’t say anything I really want to say.
I guess I try so hard I stumble on the way.
I’m always finding love when it’s not meant to be.
What is reality and can it be defined?
When you’re a fool like me it’s never really clear
so you have silent dreams inside a silent tear.
I’m always finding love when it’s not meant to be.
What is reality and can it be defined?
When you’re a fool like me it’s never really clear
so you have silent dreams inside a silent tear.
Listening to the evening edition of my favourite radio programme, BBC’s String of Pearls, on an early Saturday morning and thinking of you, dear Irving! Nice songs make me think of how much I do want to share them with you.
But did you know the history of Dewi Griffiths, the little Wales DJ? Such a romantic little story of growing up in the 30s and 40s!
“Dewi was born in Ton Pentre in the Rhondda Valley in 1931. His father became the librarian at the Workmen’s Hall and Institute, and part of the building was the family home. The Institute also provided the village with a cinema, which was why Dewi grew up seeing almost every film that came out of Hollywood and the British Film Studios throughout the 30s and 40s – and was very much influenced by the musicals of those years.
The family wireless was hardly ever switched off and a day at home was never without the sound of the Dance Bands on the BBC. With a piano in the living room on which his mother played the popular songs of the time he grew up with a wide knowledge of the songs and singers of what he refers to as ‘The Golden Age of Entertainment’. During Dewi’s three years with the Royal Air Force he became a member of a small jazz group and with his imitations of famous Hollywood musical stars he became the opening act of The RAF Revue Show. He also formed and skippered the Rugby XV at RAF Luneburg.
Dewi joined the BBC in May 1954 as a Probationary Technical Assistant with The Welsh Home Service in the control room and studio centre at Park Place, Cardiff, making full use of his work as a Radar Technician during his RAF days. He transfered to television in 1956 at the BBC TV building at Baynton House, Llandaff, the site of today’s Broadcasting House. Along the way he was a Vision Engineer, a Cameraman, a Sound Supervisor, balancing the microphones for outside broadcasts and the choirs and BBC Orchestra in the studio.
In 1961 Dewi became an OB Stage Manager with Peter Dimmock’s Outside Broadcast production team in London, returning at the end of 1962 to join the legendary Welsh Outside Half, Cliff Morgan, the newly appointed Sports Organiser and Tom Davies, the radio producer, as BBC Wales formed its very own Sports Department. Over the next 30 years Dewi directed the cameras at every rugby match played at Cardiff Arms Park, his first being Wales v England in 1963, live into Grandstand, with three cameras, no action replay and no zoom lenses. Dewi has particularly fond memories of The ‘Golden Years’ of the 70s and the famous 1973 Baabaas defeat of The All Blacks.
Dewi continued to work on BBC Network Sports coverage during these years, covering Horse Racing, Boxing, Rugby League, Golf, Cricket, Wimbledon Tennis Championships, the Olympic Games, and Lions Rugby Tours. Among his Wimbledon Final matches were the win by Australian John Newcombe and Australia’s Yvonne Goolagong beating Billy Jean Moffat. In July 1967, Dewi’s coverage of the quarter-final match between Britain’s Roger Taylor, and South Africa’s Cliff Drysdale launched the Colour Television Service of the BBC.
But Dewi never forgot his early days in the Rhondda with those stars of radio and Hollywood providing constant entertainment for his family, community and of course, the whole of the UK. It was all before television arrived and those wonderful memories were to be the key to Dewi’s twilight career as a BBC Radio Wales Disc Jockey, introducing original recordings of the songs and stars of yesteryear every Sunday morning since October 1988 in his popular programme, A String of Pearls. He’s particularly pleased that because of the internet he has fan mail from, literally, all over the world. It’s even more pleasing when a couple who have been married for 50 or 60 years, or more, hear a song that was part of their early romantic life together. It’s all about musical memories!”
For blog readers – String of Pearls plays on the BBC radio player, so do check it out if you do tune in to international radio! Another one of my favourites on BBC is Late Junction, eccentric quirky international pieces with the strangest of instruments. For jazz – 1.1 Club fm, the American channels generally are better for jazz as the UK ones are a little tame and quizzically modern when we know old jazz is best. Ahem.
The week flew past, but was a little more exciting from the development of some cases, the chance to meet J again and play rounds of Ravin Rabbids (it was hilarious!), and the annual Enforcement play. We’re doing an insider trading film noir 40s mystery this year, as the theme is the 40s, and we are going to do it part live/part scripted. Gorgeously exciting, with all the silhouetting and funky light effects!
I’m also in love with Sophie Madeleine and her little ukelele! So absolutely charming.
Someone even wrote a little love song to her…
I think the both of them are adorable.
And on girls being like bunnies, hee….:
“I really miss drinking chocolat chaud
You’d pick me up discreetly at the end of my road
We would go somewhere quiet and drink ’em slow
And I really miss taking drives with you
Forests, fields, and villages we’d pass through
There is not one single thing I’d rather do…”
My current song on repeat. It is so lovely and dreamy, and has a lil of the Badly Drawn Boy/Magic in the Air spirit. Nothing quite like a soft chocolate song to start a Saturday morning.
My misty pennant this week would have read something along the likes of “I’m tired” or “I’m exhausted” … “I want to sleep in…” for it seems that the social life has hit me into overdrive and it is time for me to hide under the covers and read stories of the tear drop woman or overdue London book reviews and listen to sleepy songs. Even arithmetic and my bonds assignments look vaguely interesting. G keeps coaxing me to go over for rootbeer floats and whatnot but all I really want to do is to sleep for ages and dream of autumn leaves like a red squirrel.
I thought the best friend loved red squirrels, but what he really meant was a red fox. So intermittently I have been creating my own magic forests in my mind – based on stories shared by the lovely ZT of her visit to redwoods trees – the tallest trees in the world – an entire forest of tall, beautiful, graceful trees. Flowers with thick stems, lavender petals. Red squirrels that skeeter and tweeter, and follow a certain directed path (she drew it out for me, I love ZT for that as I trace the haphazard path). The way a squirrel makes decisions, the way I make simple decisions like where to eat and when to sleep. She tells me of mountain treks that seem to lead to nowhere on a tall mountain, and looking down to a whole forest of swaying trees. In my mind the forest is something I imagine of anime proportions, talking and whispering, tall trees with the deer she speaks about who are not elegant but instead hide in graveyards and have menace on their countenances. Webs or thistles on your faces- something uncomfortable, unsightly. Then the trees again. I imagine walking into such a forest very, very silently.
I like the way a person sounds over the phone at night, or the way the best friend talks about a longing for toast and a bath, and I ask him whether he wants toast or a bath first. He tells me of black death stories of people walking into rooms and corners of death and a man who falls in love with a dying girl. I tell him about the plot of my new book, where the girl marries a political something but falls in love with another american professor who actually reads her poems and after she dies, screams out each word into the sea, holding the hand of her little boy who was bred with another. He tells me about people around us who have grown up, who talk about law jobs and cameras and life. We talk about the shadows and thistles of life, but Irving, sometimes I feel as though perhaps if we walk for awhile, we might just walk into magical forests every once in awhile to see the red squirrels. You give me that feeling //thats the way I feel with you// just like that.
At this point as I write this the cat, longing for attention, leaps into my lap for a hug (she does things like that), and I realize JRV is right, perhaps I do behave quite like a cat, I draw near then turn away from people. I do my own thing then come back unexpectedly, without announcing my return. And I come back smelling a little like what I have been doing. I sometimes wish I was the other way. Consistent, steady, like a patient yellow river. My emotions strong and built on solid ground, the way ST is. Or like Irving, a contemplative, earnest soul – playful in mind and the life critic. But instead I have fallen to become a cat. And I choose my affections.
Here is the surface of my life. Writing legal papers and having the White Book/Black Book (civil procedure) as my new constant friends, learning ‘advanced’ excel with N, where we came across the coolest vlookups/if/macros/analysis tools and think it is all pretty rad to apply to our tasks (we will create colourful buttons for E for every research detail he asks me for), attending V’s lovely wedding, watching good (X-Men) and bad (Treasure Inn) movies with excellent folks. Playing my first game of Scotland Yard hiding away from detectives around a game board, and whiling away the evening on cosy dinners. Learning new formulas for punch.
But a part of me longs for something slow and quiet – like those long rides on old Japanese trains in the countryside, that pass by rivers to solitary towns that serve cha soba not on ice but on a tile, where you pass by cats in single numbers, where you contemplate what you left behind in the land of the living.
We’ll do all these things again Irving, and take funny photographs, and eat comfort food, when you come to Singapore. I’ll pat you down and make sure you speak only German with me, recite not one HK law case or write not one affidavit, and the only judge you see will be the absent stars in our night sky when we are telling each other stories on a balcony. We shall take our own trains.
Charlotte Gainsbourg – Time of the Assassins
I walk in a line
I see where I’m going
I turn inside out
The days that I’ve known
I face to myself
And give up the ghost
I turn in my mind
What time already knows
In the Time Of The Assassins
They say hallelujah
It doesn’t take a miracle to raise a
Heart from the dead
I sift through the ash
I look for a sign
I open the wound
That keeps me in line
The shoulder that turns
The flame that goes out
The chapter I close
In the Time Of The Assassins
They say hallelujah
It doesn’t take a miracle to raise a
Heart from the dead
And can something change
But still feel the same
Mary Poppins flashmob in Antwerp!
It is still one of things I want to do…be part of a flash mob!
It is election weekend, which is terribly exciting! I have been panda-eyed all week from the rallies and videos! I think this has made out to be one of the most exciting elections season as yet, especially with the impact of new media.
I shall not discuss my votes and preferences, since this blog is not meant to be vaguely political or even serious, at all.
Instead lets indulge in superficial frivolities, haha!
Like this sailor hat I am actually contemplating to get for Tempura. N, my new roommate (old now, after two weeks) says he thinks it is scary the way cat owners anthromorphize cats. I love having N by my side, by the way. He is awesome. Irving – he is like W, he is minimalist in style and sense, we talk happily about photography, he has this stunning 1950s Leica, it is so comfortable talking to him in the midst of work. He is the buddy who makes my work bearable. But no one can replace you, Irving, so no worries.
This Sailor went to sea-sea-sea
to see what she could see-see-see
but all that she could see-see-see
Was a hat and collar just for she!
The first cat looks like Ophelia. I was actually meant to adopt this adorable black and brown kitten, whom I named my little Ophelia, when I visited C to get a kitten. But she always seemed to be hiding from me, and it was little Tempura who came to rub her nose into my palm. So it was little affectionate Tempura who cried ‘wee wee wee’ all the way home.
Also in love with this new book that I got from Books Actually, this overpriced, but quaint bookstore in Singapore. I love their artbooks collection, and I think Soon Lee must be a really cool dude to have built up such a gorgeous collection. And I really like Henri Cartier-Bresson too.
The book, “Creative Spaces – Urban Homes of Artists and Innovaters” is a stunning piece of the living spaces of milk-toof like artists, and short little interviews with them. I love picking the minds of artists and writers, which explains my fondness for the Paris Reviews. They are so fun!
The rooms are all rather pop-culture-ish, which is not really my design aesthetic, but boy do they tell intriguing stories.
Haphazard beauty.
Also got a copy of Vogue Living. Another gorgeous edition, and the living spaces are smoky, pensive and romantic. The house below is owned by David Bromley.
What will it be like growing up in such a home?
…
Sigh.
On another jumpy note, thanks to Karmen, who had remembered, I found my dream dress this week! It was the dress which first got me into EGL, and for years I have been searching for it, and it has always been my favourite Moi meme Moitie creation.
It is actually a very simple navy/black pleated creation with the signature Moitie Renaissance sleeves, but I have a certain fondness for it being the first dress I fell in love with from Moitie. It is not a really popular dress, but I had been hoping to find it for 6 years. Thank you Karmen for finding my dream dress for me!~ ^-^
I feel happier this week, more at home with myself.
BLAME IT ON THE BOSSA NOVA.
Romancing life.
My life is running like a perpetual calender.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince:
“And sure enough, a moment later there was a knock on the back door. Mrs. Weasley jumped up and hurried to it; with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood she called softly, “Arthur, is that you?” “Yes,” came Mr. Weasley’s weary voice. “But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!” “Oh, honestly …” “Molly!” “All right, all right … What is your dearest ambition?” “To find out how airplanes stay up.” Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned the doorknob, but apparently Mr. Weasley was holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remained firmly shut. “Molly! I’ve got to ask you your question first!” “Arthur, really, this is just silly. …” “What do you like me to call you when we’re alone together?” Even by the dim light of the lantern Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley had turned bright red; he himself felt suddenly warm around the ears and neck, and hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could against the bowl. “Mollywobbles,” whispered a mortified Mrs. Weasley into the crack at the edge of the door.”
Pretty mysteries from Littledot, Etsy
Penny Sparkle 