The Bouzouki Player

One  of the things I most associate with Lyn’s bungalow in  Charlton is a large painting which hung in the passage  leading to her living room. It was of a man sitting at a table playing a Bouzouki, and hung in the same spot since  long before I met Lyn. I’m not sure how she came by it, but it suited her musician’s personality well. Living there for almost ten years, I walked passed it every day; it felt like an innate part of the house. I remember  when Mum first visited us in Charlton, she commented  on the picture, telling Lyn how I had Greek relatives who used to play Bouzouki.

Lyn’s place in Charlton has now stood empty and quiet for some time. Paulo has been there to look after things and feed Guy, and I’ve been visiting  him, but it isn’t the same. Without Lyn there, going there makes me feel down. When I last visited, though, Paulo told me that the council would probably soon get rid of Lyn’s things, so I asked if I could have the painting. It is such a wonderful image, intertwined so  fundamentally with my memories of my life with Lyn, that the thought of it just being scrapped was too sad  to contemplate.

Paulo said I could have it, so yesterday Serkan went and brought it here. We’ll hang it later today. That has made me very happy indeed: this momento of lyn and her wonderful life is now here. It feels like a fragment of that life has now been brought into my new one.. I’ll now be able to  look at it every day, remember the passage where it once hung, and the incredible person who owned it.

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