Brief Encounter
The Allegro from the Rachmaninoff piano concerto number 2 in C Minor plays in the background a collection of tea cups are waiting to be washed up on the counter and a sweet bun rests patiently in the glass shelf, the clock ticks accurately whilst the gentlemen opens the door for the lady.
The weekly visit to the library is a thing of the past whilst I sit here on the seven ten to Paddington. For all I see is tablet after tablet displaying the latest Julian Barnes or whomever is on the current pop chart of bookery. I long for the smell of ink on paper, the essence of library bookshelves, the rustle of pages turning and bookmarks falling to tap gently on the leather shoes.
Rachmaninoff playing even louder in my memory I gasp that perhaps this brief encounter might be just a dream, something I saw in a film. Will that moment appear and will I realise it. I wonder actually if seeing a film (over 20 times) where a married woman whose life is so dreary that her weekly highlight is in fact returning her book to the library and by meeting a man, a man who takes her beyond her wildest dreams, is to be the ruin of me!
Perhaps my train journeys might not be quite as romantic as I subliminally hope for I do feel that the era of buckled corners is listening. However with the current Leveson inquiry, I am realising that all is not lost, that the digital words are just ‘stuff’ and the physicality of a paper evidence continues to make its mark on the world.
So whilst I at least turn my page of my notebook, I make a point of buckling the corner. There ought to be at least one buckled corner in this carriage. And besides, it IS the thing to do whilst hearing the violins transcend into an foray of hope.
La
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