Modern Times

I actually wrote this on Wednesday, 16th June 2010 in my diary, fact fans...

There's a little cafe near me, everything in it's for sale, from the organic oaty flapjacks, to the antique (but very temptingly-priced) chair you're sitting on, to the original 1684 hand-coloured map of northern Spain laying framed up against a wall, not to mention all the clothes, hats and jewellery arranged on that dresser over there, and the very books lining the shelves. A lovely middle-aged couple run the cafe, and there is such an old-time feel and cosy ambience to the place that you forgive them the ever-so-slightly burnt coffee, and find yourself drawn in to the cakes counter every time you pop in.

Today, my beautiful wife and I stopped by after a quick pub lunch down the road, just for a cappuccino before heading on our way. I always love the music they play in the cafe, and I always wondered who selected it. The very first time I went in, The Kinks were playing, and not as a background droning underneath, but loud enough so you could hear the lyrics over the mild hub-hub of the largely retired, well-to-do clientele, and I fancied the young girl serving us may have picked it herself, coming up on random on her iPod, I supposed, it being very much an album track, something off "Something Else...", if I rightly recall.

Today as we entered, some up-tempo jazzy type music was playing, though barely had I time to register it and order my coffee before the music had stopped, and a somewhat awkward silence fell over the place. Whenever a CD finishes, or an iPod chooses a random silent song or something at a party I'm hosting, the silence announces itself to me like an alarm, and I must immediately jump to the rescue. Similarly, if the same happens at a bar or cafe when I'm there, I'm always inwardly praying that somebody else will feel the same as me and immediately stick on something appropriate, though they rarely do of course, and I'm left bemoaning the silence, in silence.

However, no sooner had the thought entered my mind today than I heard the gentleman owner opening up a drawer near his cash register with haste (the drawer itself antique, and most probably for sale), and clacketing his way through a number of CDs, before, somewhat uncertainly, deciding on one and quickly slipping it into his player, and hitting play. Between that instant, I was inwardly wishing I'd had the courage to ask if I could have a look, and perhaps choose something, just one of those idle, daydreams. This all happened so fast after I had first looked up to see what that noise was (even in such an antiquated little place, I somehow still expected an iPod, rather than the long-unheard sound of fingers rifling through CD cases), that the owner and mine eyes met as the opening chords of "Thunder On The Mountain" from Bob Dylan's "Modern Times" crashed in through the void, and a beaming smile of instant recognition rose upon my face, one which he soon shared, in recognition of my recognition. I began tapping along to the rhythm on the table, and, after a few moments of daydreaming, my wife instantly spotted that I hadn't in fact been listening to what she had been saying since the music had started, she being rather well-versed in my zoning-out-to-the-music face, and pointed this out to me with mock-injury. 

We soon began talking about the music instead, I told her of my daydream of asking the man if I could choose the CD, and how if that had happened, I would have looked no further than this album. It was a perfectly warm early June early afternoon, the cafe was all but empty save for an elderly couple in the corner, and sitting there with my cappuccino I could think of nothing better to do with my day than to order another one, perhaps with a large slice of double chocolate cake, and to sit there with my companion listening to this wonderful album, so appropriate in so many ways to that little cafe. "Modern Times", a reference to the Chaplin film of the same name, where modern technology fails, the very use of the title by Dylan an irony, considering the old-style blues, antiquated lyrical references and themes contained in the album. My companion told me I should mention to the owner how pleased I was with his choice, but of course I didn't, though I know I should have. Sadly, we had to get on with our day, so before the end of "Spirit On The Water", we paid our bill, said our goodbyes, left a nice tip, and stepped out into the bright white sunshine, clear skies smiling down on us. A rush of joy fell down on me as we walked along on our way. It's 00:36...

Boobies

This summer, I holidayed in Croatia, as is my wont. Playing in the sea with my kids one afternoon, my eyes instinctively gravitated towards a topless woman on the beach, who was also playing with her kid. I suffered two shocks, the first at seeing naked boobs outside in real life (a thing that doesn't happen much in dreary England), but then a second shock, an aftershock at my first reaction of shock (if you follow). 


It was such a natural and beautiful thing to see, and I felt rather horrified at my initial puritanical reaction of shock. We think of ourselves as such an open and permissive society, yet the elephant in the room is that women still have to cover themselves up for reasons unexplained. What would happen if women went topless in the same numbers as men do on the beach? And what are we frightened of? Would there be a massive uncontrollable increase in population? Would men go crazy and frantic with lust? I certainly didn't, I just thought, "oh, that's nice, why don't we see more of those around?"


It gave me the thought that, although we think we are living at the forefront of all we can achieve, with technology, supposed equality, permissiveness in society and all, we actually still have a long, long way to go. There was some frustration in that, but also some comfort. The hope that things will still get better in the world, because they need to. I dreamed that afternoon of a day way off in the future, where all the beautiful mothers are playing with their beautiful children on the beaches, with their beautiful boobies swinging free in the breeze.