Having had earlier today the undeniable reward of an improving article from the London Times (grâce à my erstwhile physician) and thereafter along the wintry roadway a surpassing podcast on the BBC (thanks to Car Play), and not inconsequentially as a prelude thereto a wholesome luncheon (prepared by my inexpressible partner) of homemade tourtière and relish with boiled small potatoes, I now gloatingly reposition myself at my heavy mahogany desk with its inlaid brass handles reminiscent of matters nautical, listening on my Bose® headphones to my own very gratifying collection of “favourites” (now numbering 125 songs 8 hours 40 minutes). I have succeeded to transcend the strictly Christmas theme and to replace it instead – no doubt in preparation for the New Year – with the buoyancy of classic cocktail lounge singers, schmaltz American broadway productions and British mood music.  Bing Crosby has been set aside for another year, replaced by the likes of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Frank Chacksfield and His Orchestra.

Chacksfield signed a recording contract with Decca Records in 1953, and formed a 40-piece orchestra with a large string section, the “Singing Strings”. His first record release for Decca, Charlie Chaplin’s theme for his film Limelight, won him a gold disc in the United States,  and in the United Kingdom, where it reached No. 2 in the UK Singles Chart, and won him the NME award as ‘Record of the Year’. It spent eight weeks at No. 2 (an all-time UK chart record), and in all thirteen weeks in the top five chart positions, without dislodging Frankie Laine’s “I Believe”.  His next 78 single, “Ebb Tide”, became the first British instrumental recording to reach No. 1 in the United States, spending 5 weeks on top of the Your Hit Parade chart from November 1953 to January 1954 (including Christmas week), also providing him with a second gold disc, and he was voted the most promising new orchestra of the year in the US. Both of these hits used arrangements by Leon Young.

There is work to be done.  Whatever may be pretended, the end of one year and the start of another is forever occasion for clarification. First of course there is looking back, back upon one’s own dusty path and perhaps the more distinguished evolution of others, whether merely acquaintances or popular players on the world’s stage.  Comparison of whatever dynamic is a constant. And seemingly – that is, based upon my own defining logic with the effluxion of time and happenstance – there is increasingly movement towards simplicity.  It is what polished people prefer to label refinement or distillation, the reduction of complication to its essential ingredients (a reflection that less is more, that we needn’t contaminate perfection with addition or size). Indeed if anything is wanting it is squeeze of lemon juice, a simple, citrous balance. A delicate prevarication.

In all it is but another ritual and predominantly repetitive social convention. It is part of what is annually a reflection upon whence we have come and wither we anticipate to go. Thankfully the internal diagnoses are limited to the period from now Boxing Day, December 26, 2024 to New Year’s Day, January 1, 2025, a mere six days of specious analysis and contemplation which quite imaginably contain an element of expiation. When the undiluted necessity and blandness of daily living recovers itself, we shall in turn withdraw from the amusement of the park and return like homebound cattle to the pathways of accommodation and accomplishment. You may have already noticed my blurting admonishment of life’s insipid essentials.  This is no disparagement; rather it is acceptance of the commonplace though remarkable bluntness of Nature. Decoding imperatives to food, shelter and water is more than armchair philosophy. Understanding limitations and gratifications is the work of ingenuity. And while very often it has a flair of its own, such enterprise is not an inventiveness either peculiar or amenable to anyone in particular.

By no measure of consequence I have today re-stabilized to the currency of my affairs (admittedly as plain and unambitious as they are). But with the benefit of a good though retarded overnight (and late morning) sleep, clean clothing (guess who?), a successful though minimal bounce upon the Acon Rebounder (fitness trampoline) and the rejuvenation of the trusty automobile, I have narrowed the gap to the final passageway beyond which is evoked unparalleled and much anticipated fortuity.

Contemporaneously there are those whom we know and love who have recently engaged in or who are about to venture upon meaningful restorative events, events which by their nature and calling round out our time, feed the appetite for invention, enable the possibility of discovery both within and without. Or simply the view from a different window, across another’s gateway or fence, into a different sky or down a new road.