Many thoughts fly wildly through the aviary of my mind, like a pandemonium of parrots; a riot of colour, each squawking for attention at once, multitudinous green wings beating simultaneously, but not in unison. The result is that my head is quite a busy place!
Each day, I have to clamber through the branches of my mind, capturing each individual thought, nursing it, and placing it into a golden cage, separated, compartmentalised. But it’s impossible to cage them all, and every night, the harnessed thoughts escape their cages, flying freely again, loose feathers fluttering about like sequins, clouding clarity, and keeping me awake. Then I have to start all over again, back in the branches, climbing deeper and higher, up, up, up, plucking each parrot-like thought and tucking it away. It’s an eternal process, collecting thoughts like floating feathers and trying to make sense of them all.
In contrast to the frantic flapping and trifling thoughts that inhabit my mind, Carel Fabritius’s The Goldfinch, is solitary, calm, tethered, tranquil, understated, overlooked, composed, and worth £300 million. I was mesmerised by its beauty when I saw it, as well as overwhelmed by sadness for the restrained bird. Despite my attempts to control my mind, I think some things are meant to fly free, unfettered, birds and thoughts included.
On the theme of birdcages, and unruly nonconformist thoughts, earlier this month I was lucky enough to see La Cage aux Folles at the Regent’s Park Theatre. The weather could not have been worse – a cloud burst on the night we’d opted to go, despite the heatwave either side of it. This, however, made it a very British affair, as what can be more British than determinedly watching an open-air performance in torrential rain, huddled in mackintoshes, willing the actors on despite repeated breaks to mop the stage. The atmosphere was incredible, a jolly well done to all.
