I just watched a video to accompany a Chinese love
song on YouTube. The singer is a Chinese beauty all decked out in mediaeval
Chinese finery, and she’s lamenting the loss of her handsome-and-sensitive boyfriend
(portrayed in that restrained – though not entirely inscrutable – way that the
Chinese do rather well) who’s had to go off to war. That’s the basic scenario.
So, first they have play sword fights by a tree,
and then they drift down a river in a sort of gondola and smile a lot.
Everything is sweetness and light until the moment of agonising leave-taking,
at which point he looks especially handsome-and-sensitive and she responds with
pretty-and-resigned. He rides off with his men along a sand dune (looking back
rather a lot,) while she goes and plays a flutey gourd sort of thing by a lake.
The End.
Why don’t I just post the video, you might ask.
Well, because there are certain things an Englishman simply doesn’t post on his
blog since people might think him a right Jessy, especially when he fears they could be right.
Then again, when said Englishman has a Chinese
priestess still riding high in his consciousness, and when it’s approaching two
o’clock in the morning, I suppose it’s OK to do pretty much anything. But I’ll still
stick with the description.
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