Memory Mix 1

 

Left Ear 

Rummaging through a box of discounted old LP's in a used music shop somewhere in London. Finding an unlabelled record in a crinkled plastic sleeve which is yellowed and fatigued and somewhat stiff, I'm intrigued as what it might be.  Removing the sleeve, I stuff it under my arm, it crunching slightly, as I put it on the record deck. Visibly filthy and covered in scratches, I watch as a wedge of fluff is ploughed out of the groove by the needle as it jumps and rocks on the vinyl. Lifting the solitary headphone to my ear, what little I discern of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" is accompanied by a creaking grinding and the hissing whispers of decades and dust, as if gaseous clouds of the stuff have enveloped the piano in a fog.

Right Ear

Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" piped into the Men's lavatories in Departures at Heathrow Terminal 5. Aside from a quick succession of men at the urinals, familiar sounds of short bursts of hand-dryers and running taps, several voices are occasionally heard, their words indistinct. Cubicle doors are often open and shut with some violence, the automatic flushing shifting in and out of phase. In the cubicle next to mine a man audibly groans and gasps as, presumably, he shits. The long drawn out succession of splashes followed by a brief, high-pitched and squeaking fart. More splashes follow, again and again, each delivered with some force. The man muttering something, I hear him curse under his breath: "Fucking airline food."