Portishead

A sculpture on a housing estate somewhere on the outskirts of Portishead. I cycled there and back this morning, a little over 50 miles.

Please could you stay awhile to share my grief
For its such a lovely day
To have to always feel this way
And the time that I will suffer less
Is when I never have to wake

Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever

Wandering Star
Portishead

I once read the whole of Birdsong by Sebastian Faulkes listening to this album, Dummy by Portishead. Great album. Great book. The two are now indelibly linked in my brain and, actually they work together very well (I think). I can't listen to that album without ending up somewhere in the First World War trenches (usually in a tunnel).

Even more oddly, I did something similar the first time I read Lord of the Rings when I was about 12, to which I listened to the Quintette of the Hot Club of France. I have no idea why - I hate jazz (though I am a guitarist and I probably wanted to be able to play like Django Reinhardt. I can't! Lol). But, again, if I was ever to hear that music again I would probably be instantly transported somewhere into Middle-earth.