(no subject)
I had a surreal moment today.
I was sitting in the Picture Gallery, listening to Alex and her cousin's recital, and glanced over at the painting of the two princes. Which led my mind--odd thing that it is--to the Spin Doctor's song, which led my mind to Maz, which led my mind to last year.
There was something about being surrounded by priceless art, with chandeliers overhead, piano and clarinet music floating in the air at a private concert, while it's grey and rainy outside, drinking wine at 2 in the afternoon with some of the premier classical musicians in the country, dressed up all fancy and being disconnected from the rest of the world, stuck in a slice of perfection.
So surreal. Who would have thought that this was how I'd spend the first day of March, this year?
Not I.
Its a little hard to describe--all of a sudden, it just hit me. Here I am. Doing this. With these people. And this is a typical Tuesday. Last month I was dishing about writing with the Poet Laureate, this month its schmoozing with conductors from the Royal Philharmonic. And no one here bats an eye. And neither do I.
Surreal.
I was sitting in the Picture Gallery, listening to Alex and her cousin's recital, and glanced over at the painting of the two princes. Which led my mind--odd thing that it is--to the Spin Doctor's song, which led my mind to Maz, which led my mind to last year.
There was something about being surrounded by priceless art, with chandeliers overhead, piano and clarinet music floating in the air at a private concert, while it's grey and rainy outside, drinking wine at 2 in the afternoon with some of the premier classical musicians in the country, dressed up all fancy and being disconnected from the rest of the world, stuck in a slice of perfection.
So surreal. Who would have thought that this was how I'd spend the first day of March, this year?
Not I.
Its a little hard to describe--all of a sudden, it just hit me. Here I am. Doing this. With these people. And this is a typical Tuesday. Last month I was dishing about writing with the Poet Laureate, this month its schmoozing with conductors from the Royal Philharmonic. And no one here bats an eye. And neither do I.
Surreal.