![]() Finishing my school exams just a week before the tournament started, I remember the waves of excitement washing over me as a month of vibrant football unfolded. It was a congregation of godly talents, from London, Lisbon, Prague and beyond. ![]() There was so much of it in Portugal – at least in a footballing sense. When I hear those chords, I can see the games being played in the sweltering sunshine of my mind’s eye, the glorious jerseys of red, maroon and orange set against pitches of luscious green.īut if there is one colour I remember most vividly about that summer, it is gold. It was their song Good Luck that the BBC chose for the opening credits of Euro 2004, the music adorning shots of Patrick Kluivert and Thierry Henry as they skip gleefully around Portuguese landmarks. Whenever I hear Basement Jaxx on the radio, I get one. There’s a term for the sudden onset of nostalgia these moments bring they’re called a Proustian rush. ![]() Proust wrote often about memory how certain tastes, sounds and textures could transport us to experiences thought long- buried in our subconscious. It is their job to help us see the beauty of the world, to make us aware of our place within this transient and shifting landscape. According to the author Marcel Proust, the main function of the artist is rendre visible – ‘to make visible’.
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