Ex-Wife is (as predicted) moving in with Man Who Looks Like Steve Buscemi, in North London.
The children are staying at their current school, which is good as it’s clear that they don’t need any more disturbance, and she has been diligent about finding a way in which she can get them to and from there with relatively little fuss – to wit, The Magic Train (as it has been dubbed by Best Friend), which goes from North London to West London (and beyond in both directions, actually) in a matter of minutes. So, the education is not to be disrupted, but I am thinking that it can be supplemented.
As mentioned above, kitted out with all the requirements of a forty-year old man (younger girlfriend, cashmere V-Necks, expanding classical music collection), I became – unsurprisingly – enamoured with the back catalogue of Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs, delivered via the iPod.
Other than the varying charms and humour of the guests (high points being Ian McEwan, Lawrence Dallaglio and Kristin Scott Thomas – the low point being Giles Brandreth), and the music choices, the other great point of interest for me has been in discovering the nature of the early home lives and education of these (by and large) celebrated and gifted people. The thing that seems to be consistent across class, gender and country, is a parent (sometimes two) who exposed them early to books (not just reading, but “the cult of books”), often Shakespeare and always music. Music unending and constantly on: varying, but high quality (whether it was Ella Fitzgerald, Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan or – most often, it seems – Bach) seems to be the thing that animated these households and these childhoods.
No doubt it’s partly in the nature of the programme they’re appearing on: were it “Desert Island Books”, then I daresay books, libraries, recitals and the spoken word would make (even more of) a starring appearance; and the same is probably true of “Desert Island Kitchenalia” prompting fond, misty-eyed recollections of that sieve, that spurtle, that spoon. Nevertheless, there is something in music (and I know just how unoriginal this is) that is transcendent in every sense, which must account for its animating spark and its ability to provoke feeling and recall time and place. Like many others, I have rehearsed in my head what my choices would be (and I have gone down the path of “music that reminds me of people and occasions), and it was really easy: perhaps because I realised that music was constant in my young life too. I remember my father turning up Elvis Presley whenever it came on in the car, my mother pretending to be all of the animals in Saint Saens’ Carnival, being allowed to stay up late to watch “Carmen” (and then, at the age of ten, being taken to see Losey’s magnificent film of “Don Giovanni” in the cinema), and a steady progress of classical, opera, rock, jazz, blues and pop ever since. It was inter-mingled with the radio (never stirring from Radio 4), but there was always something in the background, over which we talked and about which we argued.
I am redoubled in my determination that it should be the backdrop to my beloved children’s lives whenever they are with me – and if that means that I begin to appreciate more great music, and to learn more about it with them, then what a reward that will be.
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Eiljert Gabbles On 
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