For many years while growing up isolated in the countryside, it was very tempting to turn on the TV to feel somewhat connected to the wider world.
The only problem… it wasn’t allowed!
Most activities very clearly regimented throughout the week.
Wake-up time, breakfast time, the school run, school, lunchtime, school again, homework, dinner, and homework again – until bedtime.
The only exception was Saturday evenings when my brother and I were allowed to stay up a little later.
While most dinners were spent as a family, the focus was on the meal, proper table manners, and reviewing what we had learnt at school. Saturday nights in front of the TV were the one relaxed moment during the week when both my parents, my brother, and I were all in the same room at once.
We usually watched a popular live music show that went on until 10.30pm.
My Dad often watched casually while perusing his professional magazines, my brother often read a book sitting on the floor, and my Mum often fell asleep on the sofa around 9.15pm.
I was the most attentive. There was something magical about seeing these well-known artists sing live with a band, while also live on TV.
Their interactions with the audience, gestures toward the musicians, impromptu adjustments to the songs… It all felt very real.
I was fascinated by the camera movements and angles, the numerous microphones and cables, the presenter’s expressions as he watched from a corner of the set, the lights, the band’s instruments, the barely visible silhouettes of the technicians… Every detail I could observe helped transport me into that small studio in the heart of Paris, where all of this was unfolding as I was seeing it.
By the time I was going to bed, my head was filled with images and sounds that helped me float and glide, just as I did watching the clouds fly by outside my window during “homework time”.
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