365 Ficlets – Day #345 ~ “Free Ride”

Hitchiking was always discussed as “the one thing you don’t ever do” when Hugh was growing up, and yet here he was in the passenger seat of a sweet Mercedes convertible, having scored a lift all the way back to London. The guy who had picked him up was apparently called Roger, an older guy but a good looking one, and thankfully he didn’t seem to be cruising. Of course his apparent disinterest made him seem all the more attractive, but Hugh had already decided to leave that well alone. Coming on to this guy was only a potential risk vis à vis the lift, and he needed to get back to Shepherds Bush even more than he needed a blowjob, even if it was a close call.

He fumbled around in his pockets for cigarettes, eventually finding them in the very last one that he checked, naturally. He looked over at Roger, trying to catch his eye, and then motioned with the pack;

“You mind if I smoke, man?”

Roger laughed;

“Sure, go right ahead. In fact, can I get one of those?”

Hugh lit two smokes and passed one across to his driver.


Thoughts on the concert I attended on Good Friday…

I went to a concert on Good Friday, at the O2, and on the way back I wrote down my thoughts in a notebook, and I have only now “got around” to writing it up:

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There is something amazing about the power that exists in music. I was four years old when I first saw “Star Wars Episode IV – A New Hope”, and now, almost thirty years later, the mere music from that and the subsequent films can bring up such emotion and whimsy in me as to leave me dazed.

The majestic sweeping strings, the powerful declarative brass, the drums, imposing and bold… This is the stuff that adventure, honour and boyhood dreams are all made of.

As I sat in my knee-injury incompatible seat I was even able to forgive Anthony Daniels who was hamming it up for the serious fanbois and fangirlz. In his defence, there was one particularly nice touch with a golden waistcoat in the second half that __was__ funny. Yep I just sat there and lost myself in the memories.

All of us that forgive (or try to forgive) Lucas for his failures (I mean he seems to define the term ‘bad dialogue’ pretty well), and embrace the simple joy of an epic tale well told can relate to the truth that this evening’s entertainment has once again affirmed; George Lucas owes John Williams and the London Philharmonic. Bigtime.