I'm at a loss for words to give a title to this post. It really sums up my whole blog, life and philosophy.
Yesterday went to London. Elder daughter had given husband two tickets for Ronnie Scott's (one for him, one for me) as a birthday present.
Ronnie Scotts. This is a dive in Soho with subdued red-shaded lighting, hostesses in low-cut tops moving around noiselessly serving meals on trays, and a lot of alcohol being consumed. In fact, it is the only place I've been to where the queue for the gents' is longer than the queue for the ladies'.
A large percentage of the female audience have dyed blonde hair. Call me a snob, I don't care. This is SO NOT ME.
We had a wait of about 15 minutes before the main act commenced. I could feel myself becoming more and more depressed. Was it the darkness, the lack of any reading matter, the lack of any intelligent conversation, or the lack of any POINT to the proceedings?
My mind was dwelling on subjects like Sodom and Gomorrah, (was that the red lights, the drinking, the mindlessness?) And on the reading matter in my desk drawer at home, the works of Cicero, specifically his advice on how to handle old age.
Before long, I was actually thinking "Well, if things get too bad, suicide is always a way out." I do not exaggerate. If there was no element of thought in life, or reading, or history, I would be suicidal.
Fortunately, once the main act (Georgie Fame) commenced, these gloomy thoughts receded. G Fame is an intelligent and witty man, as well as very musical. I lasted out the evening without upsetting my husband by articulating any of my thoughts.