Wednesday, 6 February 2013
The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Barry White
Last week I went up and had a Barry White moment. Have you ever had one? For me it happens when everything is incongruous, insane and hopelessly beautiful. Come on. How many times have you jived to Barry on a dance floor? I remember once - I swear this is a true tale - myself and the ex who were by then skating on very thin ice, ended up in a club on New Year's Eve in Addis Ababa, dancing the night away. This club played Barry White songs all night. So get this - how I wish I'd had my iPhone - we were in Ethiopia, dancing ALL NIGHT LONG TO BARRY WHITE, on the eve of what was probably the last year of our marriage.
Not the worst way to say goodbye.
And last Saturday this is how it went. I skied a few slopes. Then stopped at the bar. Took off my telemark skis and heard what they were playing. It was grand old Barry, big Barry, who's been singing songs to me since the 70s.
I sat down with my coffee thinking, How Incongruous. How Insane. How Hopelessly Beautiful.
And as you can see in the shot there was a little avalanche tumbling down the mountainside as the earth rocked to Barry's beat.