The brilliantly eccentric and amusing crazy-lady that was Paní Brožková has died. I didn't even have time to go and have a coffee with her, as she'd suggested last time I saw her. I somehow expected her to be around for years, being eccentric long into her twilight years, even though she was probably a heavy smoker and had a fondness for Vatican wine. I was a fool.
I had to go in and talk to my meet-ees right after I'd heard the news (or rather read the news, on a note with a rather sober-looking orange flower stuck to the notice board of our building) and I wasn't altogether 'with it'. So I put on a song to use as a diversion as well as a listening exercise and it helped. The song was the recently Ivor Novello awarded 'The Fear' by Lily Allen. Relatively ordinary; sad, but not too sad, "a bit lost", as Lily Allen herself described how she felt writing it, and yet something that had energy to it. Just what we all needed at that point. So Lily, I thank you.
I'm going to run away and take some red roses with me to the architect now and hope that he can withstand another evening of me as a sad version of myself, not sure what the future holds but at least trying to hang on in the present. With a beautiful shade of red to offer as compensation. At least it's not orange.
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