Wednesday, 23 December 2009
42. Horses, Bonnie "Prince" Billy (2004)
Imagine it, he said. You writing your long, rambling reviews, heading here, going there, and us living together, me making us dinner, you looking out of our windows at the darkening skies as you typed, tap-tap-tap, me looking after you.
We were in Bishops Stortford when he said it, in his Dad's house, ten minutes walk from the train station (out of the back entrance, across the road, down that posh street with the trees past Herts and Essex, out the end, then across, down the drive, and then home). He'd come and get me, in that corduroy coat with the furry collar that Richard Medina had given him in LA, the one that I thought made him look like a World War two pilot, his hair curling onto his collar, his nose pink in the cold.
That night, he made a Thai seafood curry, while I sat at the table, his comfy headphones on my ears, listening to Bonnie "Prince" Billy Sings Greatest Palace Music, writing a page review of it for The Word. I wrote about my memories of Kentucky in 2000, the way I wanted to find him, remembering the bitter cold while sitting in this new warmth. I remember thinking how I never thought I could be this happy.
Four years later, sitting in our flat, him making us dinner, me looking out of the windows at the darkening skies as I typed, tap-tap-tap, listening to the same record. Wondering what had happened exactly to make the songs lose their beauty, for our dream to die.