“One day she went away and didn’t come back. She died or vanished somewhere, in one of the Labour Camps. A nameless number on a list that was afterwards mislaid.” (Yevgraf Zhivago, Dr Zhivago)
Nice of you to drop by. Makes me think you care somehow. Thank goodness that all life comes to an end, right? Means that, sooner rather than later, our hopes and dreams and loves and heartaches and addictions and tears and children will come to nothing – nameless numbers on lists that afterwards are mislaid and then forgotten until the very concept of writing numbers on lists is bereft of meaning, whether it’s in our children’s lifetime or a thousand years later, doesn’t matter. There is nothing to look forward to, just the Void.
It’s lonely this evening, isn’t it? Children are at their grandparents instead of their regular weekly stopover, the house is chilly and drafty, no sound of laughter or fighting or TV blaring.
The second half of Dr Zhivago has just finished playing on the old man’s TV.
Man, that’s some cheery movie.
Here. Have some sweet melancholy to tide you over. Beautiful voice, beautiful arrangements. There is something a touch of Elvis Costello’s (slightly misguided) country album Almost Blue about this, but we do not hold this against Ms Freeman. Indeed we appreciate Ms Freeman all the more for it. Nostalgia, tinted with regret, tinted with warm melancholy, tinted with an appreciation for a job well done. Not too shabby. Slightly nasal. In a good way. She feels like she’d be someone it would be nice to share a few minutes with, have a few laughs with, move on after and catch a train back to Nowhere. The void. When the song finishes, there is a palpable feeling of loss.
Does not solve the problem of the cold or the heartbreak or isolation, but what does?