I'd wanted to see Love Actually ever since September, when I heard The Glasgow Love Theme (a wistfully romantic piano and strings tune composed for the film by Craig Armstrong) on Classic fm. It had been requested by a woman who had seen the film, hadn't enjoyed it, but had nevertheless thought the music 'beautiful'.
It just so happened that this tune, which I now realised was The Glasgow Love Theme, had been tinkling away in my head for ages, but without my knowing where it came from and who had written it. Well, I now knew; and soon I had bought two mp3 versions for my phone - the original by Craig Armstrong, and another equally good by Jacques Legrand. (I marginally prefer the Legrand version, but only just)
As for watching the film, I decided that the effort must now be made, if it came up in the Christmas schedules. With music like this, surely I couldn't be disappointed? And yet the Wikipedia article on Love Actually (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_Actually) wasn't over-brimming with praise. The film had some flaws. But when it came to it, I set aside all reasons not to bother, and gave it a viewing.
Why would I hesitate to watch it? Well, it was clearly about love, and what love does to people. The the results of all that pair-bonding were going to be (for the most part) uplifting - it was, after all, a Christmas film - but my own experience of love had not been so positive. I had found that love faded, love became ordinary, love took its toll and was ultimately damaging. Whatever the happiness along the way, temporary or sustained, it had all, in the end, dissolved into pain and emptiness, with everything diminished. Every relationship had gone this way, no matter how long-lasting.
Of course, love had created some wonderful memories, and the best of these endured. And love had put some treasures my way, gifts still cherished. Love had whisked me up sunny pathways, although to the exclusion of other routes. It was sometimes lively along the way: I would never have lived any kind of vivid life were it not for love.
But now, in later life, I had entirely given up on it, not wanting to invite further discord and disappointment, which seemed inevitable.
It was actually quite easy to opt out. I no longer felt desire, nor did I ever feel lonely. I did not need to share my life with anybody, nor did I want to. The ideal seemed to be a fluid life, free of entanglements and distractions, free of anything that might tie me down or imprison me. Love is incompatible with such singularity.
So why did I watch it? Well, I might not want love for myself, but I would never deny it for others. I was hoping to see the right couples find each other, and enjoy their beautiful discovery. I wobbled when I saw one of the male characters (played by Alan Rickman) sliding into adultery, and deceiving his wife - that awoke bad betrayal memories for me, when I had been let down in that way. It was too painful to watch. I had to turn the TV off for a while. But I switched it on again in time to see Hugh Grant and Colin Firth win their girls through honest and rather heroic effort. I felt very cheered by that, and clapped with delight. Christmas had delivered!
It was still good, next morning - this morning - to ponder on how love in its various forms had served the characters in the film. Where would their new relationships take them, and how long would it all last before turning dull or sour? Would the damage done by love, in that one deceitful instance that I couldn't bear to watch, break the marriage?
As in real life, people must take their chance, for better or worse. Is it always the best policy to team up with somebody? I don't know, I can't tell. I know plenty of people who will swear that a couple sharing one life together is a far more meaningful thing than two individuals going their own ways. I can only say that in my own experience, in my own history, that has not proved to be true.
Am I sad about that? No, I'm not. For a long time I have seen myself as a naturally solitary person, who does best on her own, and can thrive only when not bound to someone else. It follows that I have a clear duty not to ignite and feed anyone's emotional hopes and expectations. The pity is that I didn't recognise that requirement forty-five years ago, when in my early twenties. It would have saved several people, as well as myself, stress and pain. But at least I can do what's necessary now.
What about calling my next car Aurelia? Beautiful Aurelia? Hmm...
