6th February 2013

It’s only bloody February already, innit?

I have learnt a few things in the last few weeks. Firstly, how to make a document template using Word 2010, and secondly,  that I can cope with the odd, occasional song that reminds me of you on my ipod, but two in a row? Lawks! That’s a different kettle of chips.

I will be known as the ‘lady that cries quietly on the bus’ in these parts, pretty soon.

Excuse me if I seem distracted, but I’m busy making a beef stew. I’m half asleep, and I think I just put a tablespoon of chili flakes in it. Whoops. You wouldn’t like this stew. It has lentils in it. It’s pretty much the kind of thing that made you pull that face. You know? Like when you’d do a Quincy on mum’s liver and onions.

 “Mum, I can’t eat that. It has a tube in it.”

I wanted to write this blog about music, and what it does. I mean, right now I have Nana Mouskouri’s Only Love stuck in my head. Just one line of the chorus. (That’ll teach me to listen to so much Radio 2, eh?) Turns out Nana doesn’t actually make me feel much of anything at all really, and maybe that’s the point. I will test the Nana theory out next time I need a mental enema.

The thing is, I don’t mind crying when I hear two ‘Sarah’ songs in a row. I like the memories the music unearths. Janice Long played Strange Brew by Bad Manners the other night, on her radio 2 show, and that reminded me of days of  pudding bowl haircuts and green jackets whilst living by the Station. Bittersweet. I always wanted your big Madness poster.

The songs from the CD you made us will always be special, even if you did put Hey Baby by DJ Otzi on it. I first listened to that CD the day it arrived in the post, two days before you died. The first few bars of DJ Otzi had me cackling like a witch. This silly collection of songs was the thing I clung to most once I’d found out you were gone. It’s like you had recorded it knowing we would need something from you. Something to help make sense of something that would never make sense.

I listened to that CD over and over that night, whilst making the arrangements for Alex’s emergency travel documents and our hasty flights back to England. I don’t remember if I slept. I think I skipped the version of Under Pressure, being as it were, a mash up of the Queen song and Vanilla Ice’s only hit. I’m a sentimental bird, but I am not a sadist.

It must have taken you ages to find the songs.

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Bad Manners doing The Can Can. The Noisettes, I’ll Never Forget You eerily echoing everything I felt. One day Like This soaring to it’s anthemic conclusion. Don’t Stop Believing from Glee. (I still hate Glee btw, but that song IS you, so I make a *special dispensation).

We Are Family reminding me I will never ever have all my sisters with me, ever again.

I’ll cherish it forever, even though it’s not really mine. Your cheery, forever teenaged handwriting. The fact that your pen must have run out halfway through and that you had to finish it in a different colour.

The last song, and you can’t read it on the playlist because it’s rubbed off , is It Ain’t Over Till The Fat Lady Sings.

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* Is special dispensation the right phrase to use? Makes it sound like you could tip my head back and a Pez would come out.

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About oddboggle

Here are the letters I write to Sarah, aka Sarge, who will be sadly missed but never forgotten.
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