KARAOKE AND HOME

I was on that bench for a few minutes. I like being on my own. Above, white, textured clouds shuffled across the blue sky, and the hot sun made short shadows. Below, a gravel square, a statue of a French duke on a horse, and a grand chateau, perched in a wide, sparkling moat.

I’m remarkably unbothered by the history. There were some nice paintings, and the Duke of Aumale seems like a fine French nobleman. Nevertheless, there was no real connection for me. The chateau was big with all the usual finery of course - chairs and chandeliers and bureaus and candlesticks that were straight out of Beauty and the Beast. But I couldn’t help thinking that in all this gold and wood and velvet, the whole place must have been terrifying at night. Everything would creak. Those rooms would have been cold and big and empty. It was no home.

Speaking of home, I’m on my way back now. I’m so tired. It’s been good from a work perspective, perhaps even affirming from a personal perspective, but it’s also been socially exhausting. 

During the karaoke last night at the hotel, I decided to slip out and play the piano. The singers had steadily become more rowdy, the music more cheesy, and as confidence flowed more freely than the table wine, and the dancing grew evermore expressive, I left them to it for something calmer.

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“And you can tell everybody…” suddenly sang a voice with me. It was a lady, a stranger who’d popped out from the restaurant. “This is your song…” she sang as I played. I smiled from the piano.

“It might be quite simple but… now that it’s done…” we sang together. Before I knew it, a crescent of French people had gathered behind me, some with drinks, some with phones…

“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, how I’ve put down in words…”

About twenty people were singing with me.

“How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world!”

Applause, embarrassment. I span around on the piano stool and applauded back politely beaming. What a lovely moment. I think that’s what music ought to do - bring people together. And there was me actually trying to escape from karaoke night!

I know. You can’t really escape who you are, can you? I couldn’t see that lady who’d sung with me either. She had disappeared. I thought about that a lot afterwards.

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Homeward then, to the people and places I love. Perhaps that was the thought of the Duke too, poised on his horse at Chantilly. It’s possible that that same feeling beat within his noble French heart, a sort of passion for the land and the great wonder of his chateau. We’re all different. But some things, like music, home, and love, will always be what they are.