Occasionally some of the answers can be so ridiculously obvious that one cringes when one stumbles across them. I was visiting a number of shops in pursuit of a comfortable new chair for my desk- not that I have a desk, currently, either, or in fact much furniture at all- but one has to start somewhere. But suddenly, as I passed model room after model room, I became aware that there was one particular element that kept repeating. That element was those combinations of black boxes that on the continents pass for phonographs. And it came to me- why should I not be lonely, when I have packed the voices and sounds that were, until a few months ago, my daily intimate companions, into boxes to rot! For, having nothing upon which to play them, I have not taken out a single record since my arrival. I forgot all ideas of buying a chair and hurried as quickly as I could to find someone who could tell me where I might buy a proper player.

I stopped first in a place called Tranquility Gardens, where I was charmed by their modest offering, which was nicely crafted and so very inexpensive that I ordered one immediately. Then on to Twist and Mila Designs, which, although it was a very fine shop overall and I might return for some of their other items, did not tempt me. Their gramophone was just somewhat plain, and not very different from the one I had just purchased. Since I don't currently require its additional features, I passed. Heading on to Deckard & Quinn, I was hoping to find what I was looking for there because it seems natural to support Caledon and its residents as much as I can. Their meticulously-crafted phonograph was extremely impressive, but I have so few cylinders that it wouldn't be put to much use. Also, the stain of the wood case wasn't to my liking. I may change my mind and go back for it later, however.

Having more or less escaped unscathed thus far, my purse was not so lucky at the next shop. Serendipity Studios proved its excellent reputation to me the moment I entered l'Opera Populaire with its dazzling foyer and famous chandelier. That sort of excess in design isn't usually my taste, although I am aware that it is a replica, and one can admire the artisanship in any case. And the gramophones... absolutely luscious. Sometime, when I have a home large enough to accommodate all three, I will go back and buy the other two, but for now I am more than contented with my selection, the richly coloured 'Jewel of Morocco'. In fact I could probably not be more in love with it.



Arriving home, I unpacked it as quickly as I could, setting it up on a bench because I don't even have a proper stand sturdy enough to hold it yet. Dragging out one of my boxes of records from beneath the bed, I tore off the lid and pulled out the first disc I touched without even bothering to look at the cover. In retrospect, I'm probably quite fortunate that chance did not land me with a copy of the planktology lecture I attended last summer.

Instead, my little room slowly filled with the plaintive sweetness of some unknown, pure-voiced Norwegian soprano performing Solveig's Song as Grieg had first meant for it to be- sung- with such an honesty of expression that I had to sit down immediately before I ended up in a tangle on the rug. I do not speak the language, but I had the pleasure of seeing the play performed in Kristiania once with a friend who did, and it never fails to affect me. It is the song of anyone who dares against hope and reason to love someone unworthy. Sometimes the waiting is in vain; sometimes, unbeknownst, they are indeed waiting for you where you can't yet go to join them. Would I still had such faith as Ibsen's heroine that death were no separation.