The year was 1967. Procol Harum sang “We skipped the light fandango, turned cartwheels ‘cross the floor; I was feeling kinda seasick but the crowd called out for more….and so it was that later, as the miller told his tale, that her face, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale…”
I was in Paris for a month in the summer of 1967, Anne, my assigned roommate at the Cite universitaire, played this song over and over again when she was in the room. I had the luxury of a private room almost every night.
Inspiration from Ailsa’s Travel theme, pale.