Like most people I know, I try to live my life like a good person. I might be notoriously short-fused (though even that in time has lost its edge – yes, it has been worse!) but I do try to stay away from heroin and I try not to torture small animals.
I try to be a decent human being, have broad interests and a nearly sick memory for random trivia which means I can make conversation with most people and you really want me on your team for any pub quiz, I love my family (some more than others haha but love them never the less) I try to keep in touch with my friends, be there for them when they need me like they are there for me. I try to give to charity, I even smile at chuggers (those charity people who try to interview you when all you want to do is go home.) because I realise one day it could be me and we are all just paying the rent.
Still I have a very guilty pleasure: my taste in music. Unlike my very cool sister who has every awe inspiring track under the sun, my taste in music can only be described as bad. I will not disclose the full embarrassing details but I will indulge a little in something I know is so wrong. Not bad that it becomes cool, nope actually borderline wrong. When I have children I will not be able to impress them with Florence and the Machine or tell them about my wild Glastonbury days (I have never been and suspect I never will).
I am not even a devout Britney follower (they apparently make up a whole new sub-species) though Toxic has made it onto my Ipod. I love the idea of Bruce Springsteen. He is, now we ventured here, incidentally also my wrong crush. [Pause for very dramatic gasp] Oh sue me: I know a quite few people who love Alan Rickman or even Alan Titmarsh (Sorry Alan) and I will disclose names if I get too much abuse! In any case: of all the classics Bruce has written and all he stands for only Sherry Darling has made it on my Ipod…and only because I heard Robert Downey Jr sing it on Ally McBeal.
Still I know the early 90s BonJovi tracks of by heart, was a boyband groupie (*cough* Backstreet Boys *cough* I KNOW Not Even Take That!) and lay dramatically on the floor at the grand age of fifteen listening to Charlene’s Never Been To Me. (This whilst the LP Tapestry by Carole King was standing right next to it)
Hopeless I admit. My sister’s efforts to educate me are near futile, I will go to Edinburgh this weekend and will be introduced to new names but they just won’t stick.
I am like the paraplegic trying to dance – possible but it will never be as easy or as gracious and traditionally beautiful. Yet even though no one will appreciate the way I dance, like the paraplegic, at least I can get an enormous pleasure out of it.
PS: As I am writing this with DreamGirls in the background (and I know, the football was on but I have read about Peter Crouch and managed to see the other dude score the second goal) I will leave you with this – you know you love it ! (Yes yes Jennifer Hudson instead of Holliday but great all the same. In my book that is.)