An Invented Nostalgia

Sitting in his London office, one man dreams of a life that isn't and never was his.

An Invented Nostalgia

 

Sitting here, my mind adrift,

In squalid London town,

I stare outside, I stare beyond,

My face one giant frown.

 

For here I sit, in 2012,

My mind heading for the door,

For how I wish, I was in France,

In 1964.

 

Across the Channel, I wish I was,

Midst the fields of green and gold,

Driving in my Deux CV,

The steering wheel I’d hold

 

Down to Nice, Marseille, Montpelier,

Or Toulon I would soar,

My girl and I, through the countryside,

With the Deux CV’s meek roar.

 

In Paris, I’d have picked her up,

In a smoky, chic, jazz bar,

We’d have had a drink, a Kir, I think,

Before she laughed at my car.

 

Despite her mockery of the car,

To the South she said she’d flee,

Wearing summer dresses, her hair in tresses,

What a sight she was to see.

 

In the car we slept, our hands entwined,

In a drive through cinema,

Our hearts entangled, our souls combined,

Round the gearstick of the car.

 

And in that car we’d laugh, we’d joke,

And smoke with all our might,

And on the dashboard, our clothes we’d leave,

Whilst we made love all night.

 

But then one night near Perpignan,

My heart filled with despair,

I looked around, all over town,

But my girl wasn’t there.

 

She’d left a note, my heart she’d broke,

With “Well, we can still be friends”,

On the paper on the dash she’d wrote,

“I’m with David from Bridgend”.

 

 

But suddenly, the vision fades,

I’m back in Holborn once more,

But still of France and the girl I dream,

Back in 1964.