La Magie Francaise.

It seems that Ravel’s Bolero has the capacity to re-arrange my disordered brain cells a little when they’ve become disjointed in the dark mist of uncertainty and infinitely variable perception. It’s a bit like putting a magnet under a scattered mess of iron filings.

Remember me saying that Bolero always conjured up an image in my mind of a procession of the world’s cultures parading through a city? A French woman commented on YouTube (assuming my French isn’t even worse than I think it is) that she always sees a procession of elephants. That’s nice. I like elephants. And I always did have a soft spot for French women (well, Amelie at least.)