watching Herbie Hancock perform live at Abbey Road with Corinne Bailey Rae triggered memories of sitting in a dark pub/bar, sipping rum and coke on the rocks and listening to jazz... the smells, the taste of rum and coke, the tinkering off keys, the full-bodied, smooth tone of the sax, the nifty brushwork on the drums, the lights refracting off the sax and the body of the bass guitar....
which in turn reminded me of a cold, brisk night in Coventry as we travel to Canal Basin and us standing in the car park unloading and loading equipment again at the end of the night... us in our black puffy-ish jackets and me with my pink scarf to keep me warm...
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reading Proust also gives you the urge to buy madeleines whenever you see them just so that you can perhaps also partake of that magical moment when the the brain's memory meets that of the senses and both are reunited and even reinforced...
oh to have a madeleine softened with tea...
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