Ariadne's Thread

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Sometimes the strangest conjunctions appear out of nowhere. This afternoon I was steered to a YouTube short by my feed from SF Jazz [Drop the Needle, with Howard Way], on my iPhone. He was talking about an African jazz musician I'd not previously been aware of: Doctor Mulatu Astatke, who is now in his eighties. The music intrigued me and so I did the natural thing and Googled the name to find out more. Born in Ethiopia in 1943, he ended up in North-East Wales, near Wrexham, a stone's throw from where my Rudge family line came, before moving to London to get a degree in music and thence to the States to study music at Berklee. It was just the Wrexham connection that floored me; a bit like the time Jane and I went for a drink in a dilapidated taverna in the south of Corfu, and found that the proprietor had returned from Wales, where he had run the first Greek restaurant down in the south. It was on this occasion that a phrase that has entered our lexicon was uttered by mine host as he settled down for an ouzo with his mates. He looked across the yard towards our table, raised his glass and hollered "Iechyd da, Madam!". Truly surreal, and something that will stay with us to the grave...

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