Good Morning All
Well, well, well, what a day yesterday turned out to be. I told you all I was off to see my brother but what I didn’t tell you is that I have never actually visited my brother at his house for the last fifteen years or so. Reason? I won’t bore you with the reason.
So, off I toddled to see him, after I’d been on a life-saving dash to the pet shop to get the chucks some layers pellets and to Morrison’s on a life-saving dash, to get Richard a pork pie and a bar of chocolate. I stopped off briefly at Marks and Spencer for the undergarment which was mentioned yesterday and then off I tore.
My brother lives slap bang in the middle of my old life. What I mean is, when I was married I lived that way too and the drive took me along familiar roads – physically and mentally. I passed the farm where a dear farmer friend had lived until he had been taken by cancer. I passed the petrol station where I used to ‘fill up’ and charge it on account. Back then a little man popped out, filled up the car, had a bit of a silly flirt and divulged to me the weather for the coming week.
But the weirdest thing – the moment I was on familiar roads, a song came on the radio that was ‘my song,’ way back then. Whenever I hear this song on the radio I am transported back faster than Dr Who to that time and place of my earlier life. The song hadn’t quite finished as I pulled up outside my brother’s house.
I don’t know why this happens to me? It certainly isn’t the first time.
When my father died, six years ago, I associated the Michael Buble song, Lost, with dad, in particular the lyric, ‘You are not alone I’m always there with you.’ I played this song all the time on repeat. One morning I was getting dressed and dad was on my mind more than usual. I did a few bits upstairs, as you do, before going downstairs, and I still couldn’t kick the sad thoughts of dad out of my head. I felt totally alone. As if I was the only person on the planet that felt like I felt. I went downstairs and into the kitchen, flicking on the radio as I passed it and not only was Lost playing but the first words that came from the radio were, ‘You are not alone, I’m always there with you.‘ I just stood and cried.
I love music. Especially the songs that bring huge emotions to the surface. It is almost like a cleansing process.
Last night I decided that I’d have an early night, so I returned to the laptop to close it down after checking emails. That was my big mistake. Sitting there was a twitter notification from my cousin and it made a reference to a song that was ‘our song,’ back in the early days of separating from my husband. We had our own version of it! Well, I was young and silly once! Nowadays I’m just silly. I stood no chance of not HAVING to hear that song so off I toddled to YouTube and there it was. ‘I’m in the mood for dancing,‘ by the Nolans.
Hah! Blown my cover. Now you all know how mental I am. But once that, doo doo doo started, I turned up the volume on the headphones and my cousin and I were belting along sunny country lanes, sunroof open, warbling at the top of our voices. Whole herds of cud-chewing cattle turned their heads and blinked as we sped past. We were probably directly responsible for the milk yield dropping that day!
That was the end of my early night. I then found – shit, how do I say this? … er …Val Doonican singing, ‘If the whole world stopped loving.‘ Help! But it was soooo lovely. I know you’ll all be blocking up YouTube looking for it.
On a positive note and to attempt to bring back some credence, I finished the night with Pink’s Try. I love her. See. I’m normal.
I crawled up the stairs well after midnight, all emotioned out … and yes, that is not a word. But it should be because it sounds perfect for how I felt.
I still have the headphones attached to the laptop and I reckon, if I’m quick, I can just fit in one more doo doo doo, before I have to go and let the chucks out for a worm-murdering session Yeah. Go Nolans …
Take my care my lovelies x
PS Oopps! Still forgotten to leave a million links to Mulligan’s Reach. Never mind, there is always tomorrow.