I’m asked today by an incomplete stranger how I spent Easter Saturday. “If it’s any of your business, I’ll tell you,” I snapped, “so I’ll tell you.”
I was in the Virgin Lounge with its imposing piano when this young fellermelad upped from his lounge easy chair and gave the keyboard a tinkle. I couldn’t distinguish one of his tunes from another, so I politely asked him if he played requests. Did he know anything by Michel Legrand? Had the lad’s dad ever heard in person Alex Shaw or Danny Dorrian?
All this produced a blank stare and I was a daftie because in my excitement I spilled a glass of orange juice on to the highly-polished floor. We returned to canned piano and an acceptable Cole Porter medley and Do You Know the Way to San Jose?
Trams, meantime, were trundling past the Virgin windows overlooking St Andrew Square. Did the testing tram drivers know the way from one end of Princes Street to the other?
So that’s how I spent Easter Saturday when, I dare say, I should have selected a medley from a Church of Scotland hymnary.
Love is in the air
Bob Geldof at 62 is by no means short of breath, romanticising: “Luckily for me, love is the thing. It turns out that all those crappy, corny songs are true. Love is all you need. Love is the answer. It’s hugely redemptive and powerful, as we all know, except it takes time to get there.
“Life without love is meaningless. It’s absolutely true. It’s absolutely corny but that’s it.”