Eclectic Blue

The Friday Music Shuffle (23/6)

No Comments 23 June 2017

As the nights start to close in, come with me to my Man Cave in the village where the iPod plays randomly through by little but very loud speaker.

Are you ready to rock? Then, welcome my friends to the show that never ends.

1. River Deep Mountain High by the Supremes and the Four Tops. A Diana Ross-free Supremes here, but if you have Levi Stubbs do you really need anyone else?

2. Letter to God by Sheryl Crow. From her wonderful Wildflower long playing record.

3. Art for Art’s Sake by 10cc. The classic line up of the band from their brilliant album How Dare You?

4. The Sweetest Thing by Albert Hammond. The original Albert Hammond, he of It Never Rains in Southern California and father of the Strokes Albert Hammond Jr, from his Revolution of the Heart record, co-written by Leo Sayer.

5. Poor Poor Pitiful Me by Warren Zeavon. A very different take on the Linda Ronstadt tune and proof, as if it were needed, that he was more than a werewolf.

6. The Circus by Take That. Title track of the TT album The Circus, funnily enough.

7. Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton. God alone knows what this dross is doing on my iPod. I’ve not been a fan of Clapton since Layla and other Assorted Love Songs. Seriously overrated IMHO.

8. Once In A Lifetime by Talking Heads. An absolute classic, made perfect by Tina Weymouth’s thumping bass line.

9. Queen of the Roller Derby by Leon Russell. Can’t understand a word he sang but boy could the boy play.

10. Knacker’s Yard Blues by Lindisfarne. Blimey – some serious harp and blues singing on this little known classic. What a band they were.

Eclectic Blue

Time is running out

No Comments 23 June 2017

The retirement of the BBC cricket commentator Henry Blofeld at the age of 77 has reignited the debate about when exactly is the best time to retire. It’s an impossible question to answer, really, because everyone feels differently about it. For example, I have one friend who is a long way short of retirement age who has retired on a reduced pension and another who is working past retirement age because he cannot bear to spend too much time with his wife! There are, of course, plenty of reasons why people retire and why people carry on working but, as someone who retired from full time work as soon as I possibly could, there was only one commodity that mattered to me: time.

When I was young, I knew I was going to live forever. Even when people died from time to time, I would, for reasons I didn’t think about, be the lone survivor. Old age would not reach me. I would be exempt, spared the uncomfortable realisation about my mortality. No more.

I took a substantial financial hit from a dead end, insubstantial, poorly paid civil service job precisely because time was beginning to run out. It was when, some four years ago, I found myself in a hotel in Runcorn where I had gone to attend a meeting I knew my time was up. In previous years, I enjoyed travelling for work. It was quite nice travelling to a nice hotel, having something nice to eat as well as a few beers, going to that meeting and then driving home again. But something this time was very different. My job was changing, and not for the better, but moreover I was changing even more. The job was taking up five sevenths of my life, Sunday nights became a period of dread at the Monday morning to follow and people were dying all around me. With the death of my father in 2011, I was now the oldest person in the family. Physically, I was in reasonable shape but I knew I would not always be. Without trying to come across as too gloomy, much of what was round the corner would not be good. Time became everything. Sitting in a distant hotel, away from everything and everyone I treasured was not life as I wanted it to be.

I had heard all the stories from people who carried on working long into retirement, some because they simply couldn’t give it up, others working much longer to build up a better pension and some who really didn’t know what to do with all that extra time. I am not them, but it made me sad for them. One friend of mine told me about his father who got to 65 after a working life in a job that was just a job and nothing more and a week later into the retirement he had waited for throughout most of his later years he dropped dead from a heart attack. So, all he did in life was work.

And let’s be honest about this. If we retire after age 50, we are in any event well into the long decline. We can take up a sport, like I did with golf, or we can run or we can cycle, but we will never capture the vitality of our youth. It’s all better than working for a living but we fool ourselves if we think we are what we were. For the first time in my life, my knees ache; those knees that have held up without a niggle are now stiff and achey and sometimes it’s an effort to stand up. Other joints ache, all those football injuries from long ago have all come back to haunt me. Life has consequences.

How long have you got when you finally retire? Five good years? Ten? By the time you reach 80, if you make it, you are not going to be doing a 10k without a zimmer. It is likely to be a sedentary lifestyle until your body stops working altogether. It is not a pleasant prospect, which is why I realised years ago I couldn’t afford to wait to reach state retirement age. I would have been gambling that, in the middle to far distance, that I would still be around and in a fit state to be reasonably active. I concluded that full time work, whatever the financial benefits, was a waste of life. I didn’t want to be the wealthiest man in the graveyard.

I have never regretted leaving the civil service. There were career options in other government departments, there were career options away from the civil service, some of which might have been relatively lucrative. But it would have stopped me going to Greece to write a book, playing golf pretty well whenever I wanted to and, did I mention writing and writing and writing, the one thing I always wanted to do.

When I hear a story of someone on the TV news who is still working well into old age, my first reaction is “you poor sod.” What is it in life that you really enjoy? Family? Doing something creative? Travel? Gardening? If it’s work, then that’s your shout. I work to live, not live to work and every day I spend working for someone else, is a day wasted.

Whichever way you look at it, time is running out.

Eclectic Blue

Hurry up Harry

No Comments 22 June 2017

When Prince Harry says no one in the Royal Family wants to be king or queen, you can believe him.”Is there any one of the Royal Family who wants to be king or queen? I don’t think so,” he told Newsweek. We do it, he added, “for the greater good of the people”. He probably does too. I know the Queen does.

The boy still looks troubled to me and we can all see why. He lost his mother in an horrendous car crash in 1997. Who wouldn’t be troubled after that? Then he grows up within a dysfunctional family a million miles away from the real world.

I still remember that day in 1997 when we woke up to the news that Princess Diana had been killed. Before her death, Diane had become a hate figure with certain figures in the media, some of whom were highly critical of her numerous holidays through the summer. I remember people saying what a disgrace it was that she was leaving her boys with various nannies in order to gallivant around the world with the playboy son of an Egyptian billionaire. That all changed on 31 August after which the country, or much of it, went mad.

In the days following the accident, the royal family were forced to appear in front of the public by a screaming mass media which demanded they share the pain of the people. To that end, Prince Harry, all of 13 years of age, was sent on the streets of London, alongside his 15 year old brother William to join a procession. Not only had he been forced to endure a messy divorce between Diana and Prince Charles, he now had to deal with her death in public. It was disgusting.

Harry is part of a movement to modernise the royal family and not before time. Not only was he forced to step into the public glare as a bereaved child, no one in his family appeared to have noticed the possible psychological implications of such a bereavement. So, this young man appears to have had no meaningful counselling or therapy since his mum died. No wonder the royal family needs modernising. What the hell was Charles doing all this time? Did it not occur to him that his sons might be traumatised and damaged? Given the money we pay for the royal family, do they not have any support mechanisms? I know that mental health remains the Cinderella health service, grossly underfunded and unavailable to so many people who need it. It just comes as a surprise to learn that an heir to the throne was just left to get on with it. “Pull yourself together!”

If the truth be known, I’m an apathetic republican, in that I don’t really have a lot of time for the royal family as a concept, there are other priorities in our country and most people like the monarchy. But I do like the young princes. Yes, I know they have, and will always have, non jobs now that they have finished with the military but they seem to put their available time to good causes such as the Invictus Games and mental health.

Luckily, when the Queen finally dies, the man described by the late Christopher Hitchens as a “slobbering, weak chinned dauphin of a son”, Prince Charles, will assume the throne and not Harry. In the meantime, I hope Harry and William can carry on trying to make the royal family appear more relevant than it currently is and that no one has to suffer like he did back in 1997, something I suspect continues to have a damaging effect on his life.

Eclectic Blue

The fascist left

No Comments 22 June 2017

Earlier this week, the Guardian published a cartoon By Martin Rowson of a white van with the words ‘Read the Sun and Daily Mail’ on the side. It was a representation of the attack on people near the Finsbury Park mosque. There was no accompanying comment because there didn’t need to be. It represented the corrosive nature of the red tops in this country today and their role in much of the race hatred that exists. Today, the Mail explodes with rage in a an editorial that rips into the Guardian, attacking its journalists and readers, referring to them, us, as the “fascist left”.

The cartoon was, according to the Mail, “sick and disgusting” and “deranged and offensive”. “The Guardian was telling its followers that the Daily Mail and its readers are vicious bigots with the blood of innocent, peace-loving muslims on their hands.” I am not sure why the Guardian has “followers” and the Mail has “readers” but the cartoonist is pointing out what many of us believe, with good reason, that the Daily Mail (and the Sun) is produced by vicious bigots with the blood of innocent, peace-loving muslims on their hands. For as long as I can remember, Paul Dacre’s evil organ has pumped out racism, xenophobia, anti-migration scare stories and lies. No one is saying that all Mail and Sun readers are vicious bigots, but buying the newspapers they condone vicious bigotry.

It is worth pointing out, for the umpteenth time, that before World War Two, the Mail supported Adolf Hitler and Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists. “Hurrah for the Blackshirts,” they trumpeted before complaining about Jewish refugees escaping Germany, the migrants of the 1930s. They didn’t like migrants then and they don’t like them now. If anything, the Mail has moved to the right of politics since then.

Read it for yourself elsewhere, but the Mail’s editorial is full of anger, hidden threats and not a little madness. It is as if the Guardian cartoonist has struck a raw nerve. And plainly they hate the idea of a free press where a newspaper chooses to publish a cartoon which might not necessarily reflect the views of its editor. I am sure that not every piece that appears in the Guardian chimes 100% with the editor’s view but you can bet your bottom dollar that every article that appears in the Mail certainly does.

The final paragraph isn’t even borderline madness, it’s complete madness. “The truth is the Guardian and the fascist left are the REAL purveyors of hate in this country.” In fact it’s far from the truth. The Guardian was so close to the “fascist left” that it urged readers to vote Lib Dem in 2010. The editorials are left of centre, yes, as are many, though not all, of its contributors. But none of them are in any way as extreme as the right wing filth that fills the pages of the Mail from the likes of Richard Littlejohn and the failed Apperentice contestant.

The truth hurts. The Mail exploded today because they know that Martin Rowson was right. The Mail and the Sun have a pernicious effect on the country by way of a combination of half-truths, lies and right wing propaganda. I buy the Guardian and Observer because they are great to read and I support good journalism. The Guardian is the only national newspaper to be owned by a trust and not by big business. If you read the Guardian/Observer on-line, why not make a voluntary monthly payment of a fiver to ensure strong, independent journalism is maintained? The website shows you how to do it.

I am surprised to see myself described as a supporter of the “fascist left” and a “purveyor of hate”. It doesn’t greatly bother me because I am know that I am neither and actually it is quite a compliment to be so described by a lump of journalistic excrement.

The Mail is a purveyor of hate, just like Abu Hamza, Amjem Choudary, Paul Golding, Nigel Farage, Tommy Robinson and of course the woman who used to be on the Apprentice. For Paul Dacre to accuse the Guardian of fascism is beyond parody and shows he is worried and has been found out.

I urge all newspaper readers and advertisers to stop funding hate because by giving money to the Mail and the Sun you are just encouraging them and you are guilty by association.

Eclectic Blue

More Labour pains

No Comments 21 June 2017

I’ve been thinking about resigning from the Labour Party ever since Jeremy Corbyn was elected leader in 2015 but I still haven’t quite got used to it. The party’s successful defeat in the recent general election didn’t really change anything. The intervention from one man today has pretty well convinced me to go through with it this time: Iain Duncan Smith.

Duncan Smith hates the EU and desperately wants as hard a Brexit as possible. I usually dismiss the stuff he comes out with a large pinch of salt but today was different. He said something that made me squirm: that something like 85% of the electorate voted on 8th June to fuck over the country. I may have misheard some of the words, but that was the gist of what he was saying. 85% of those who voted did so for political parties that support a hard Brexit and that includes Labour.

Corbyn, or rather his team, ensured that throughout the election campaign Labour said nothing about Europe in order to neutralise the Tory vote. It worked. However, Labour now supports leaving the single market and the customs union and worst of all ending free movement. This is virtually indistinguishable from Tory policy. More than that, Labour how supports trashing the economy just like the Tories do and the comment by Corbyn that he supports a “jobs first Brexit” is pure tosh. Labour wants to remove the rights of young people to live, love, work, study and travel freely in the EU. I am embarrassed to be a member of a Labour Party that treats the young like that, especially since the young came out in such large numbers to stop may getting a landslide Tory victory. It was mainly younger people who voted remain and today Labour stands for not just trashing the economy but also trashing the life chances of young people. What’s worse, it’s my fault.

I really did vote for a pro hard Brexit and it makes me feel dirty. My main motive in voting Labour was to help defeat our local MP Jack “Shagger” Lopresti but in so doing I shed my principles about Europe. My vote alone made no difference to the overall result but I am probably no better than the leavers who voted leave, knowing full well they were going to deny their children the opportunity to enjoy the things they themselves took for granted. It is grating to hear Iain Duncan Smith, one of the most dislikable politicians in the land, telling me what I didn’t want to hear: that hard Brexit was my fault.

The exit door from Labour is opening wide now. In any case, I am not comfortable being in the same party as Corbyn, McDonnell, Mark Serwotka, Paul Mason, Andrew Murray (the Stalinist, not the tennis player), Seumas Milne and Len McCluskey. Leaving the EU will be an absolute disaster, short term and long term, and to see the Labour Party effectively conspiring with the nasty party makes me sick. Almost literally.

Eclectic Blue

Hotter than hell

No Comments 20 June 2017

We are well into the season now where we are supposed to make up how hot the temperature is. You know the sort of thing. “We’ve just got back from Ibiza. It was 47c every day.” “Santorini was amazing. It got over 50c on a few of the days.” To which I always want to rely, no it fucking wasn’t.

It shouldn’t bug me, I know, but it does and I don’t know why. When I see a Facebook post boasting of record temperatures, my inclination is to see what the actual temperature was on that day. There are countless excellent websites which faithfully record the actual temperature rather than what people think, or would like to think, it is. I just wonder why people feel the need to exaggerate?

When my old acquaintance said he’d enjoyed lying on a sun bed on 47c degrees of sunshine, by which we mean the shade temperature, I suggested mildly that if the weather had really been 47c, he’d have barely left the hotel. In the late 1980s, I was in Greece in the middle of a heatwave. It was absolutely desperate. The temperature rarely went below 38c (100f) and it was impossible to enjoy yourself. For most of the time, you couldn’t lie in the sun and you certainly couldn’t walk about in it.

We’re enjoying – or is it enduring? – 32c at the moment and I find myself wishing it was a few degrees cooler. 28 or 29c is usually as hot as I want it, anything in the low thirties and it begins to get uncomfortable. The reality is that high forties celcius is up near Death Valley levels and you would not want to spend a fortnight in Death Valley.

Living as we do in a maritime climate, a good summer’s day can be somewhere near the low to mid twenties celsius and that’s just fine. Perhaps we are so unused to warm weather than when it becomes very warm, even hot, we can’t quite believe it’s “only” about 24c. It just has to be hotter than that, doesn’t it?

None of this matters, of course. If folk want to exaggerate how warm it is, it’s up to them. I just don’t know why they do.

Eclectic Blue

Bad company

No Comments 19 June 2017

Great news for Bristol: your council is going to cut out waste. Because the government is starving local authorities of funding. “£4.3 million of cuts need to be made across library, public toilets, school crossing, dementia and neighbourhood services”, says the Bristol Post. Hooray, I hear you cry. Don’t I?

Well, probably not, actually. I suppose you can come up with an argument about getting rid of public toilets, after all, because what are bus shelters and bushes for? And libraries? They’ve gave us power, as the Manic Street Preachers so accurately pointed out, but why should we pay for working class people and old people to read books? Let them watch telly. But getting rid of lolly pop ladies (and men)?

I cannot help but think the worst about this. Driving around Bristol, I see plenty of lollipop people carrying out invaluable work in ensuring children stay safe. Invaluable work by people who are paid a trivial amount for so doing. They do not receive £200,000 a week like some footballers. I rather think that most, if not all of them, do it because they love to do it. What happens when and if a child dies on the way to school at the place where a lollipop person used to be? What will we say then? There will be an outcry by the public and politicians will wring their hands. That’s bad enough, for sure, but how about cuts to dementia and neighbourhood services?

Now hang on a minute. Your common or garden council taxpayer is already paying more council tax for reduced services and no one seriously denies that social care is in crisis. Unless you are so hard-hearted that you could not give a toss about those with dementia going without vital, basic services, in which case you are probably Margaret Thatcher incarnate, could you really condone such cuts? If your mum, your dad, your husband, your wife was facing a grim future as dementia slowly but surely ruined their lives, you wouldn’t say, “Oh sod them”, would you? I don’t think so. We shouldn’t be looking to cut services: we should be looking to increase them.

The chancellor Philip Hammond acknowledged yesterday that the government was “not deaf” to people’s concerns about continued austerity. What he didn’t add was any suggestion that they might actually do something about it. These politicians are supposed to represent us, to do what we tell them to do. If the British people are really saying that people with dementia should just be left to it, our society is in a far worse state than I imagined it to be.

What we are really facing is a society led by a government that knows the price of everything but the value of nothing. One man’s waste is another man’s carer, that’s the reality. For decades we have heard from politicians lecturing us on the importance of “cutting out waste” when in reality they have been cutting vital frontline services.

The Grenfell House disaster has illustrated in the worst possible way how doing everything on the cheap has consequences. In this dreadfully divided country, we all have a role to play and a price to pay, depending on how much money we have (unless we choose to dodge taxes, legally or illegally, simply because we can).

I see in every day of my working life how public spending cuts have affected lives, never for the better. When a politician says we are cutting waste, it means we are cutting services, often vital services. If you think closing libraries, public toilets, sacking lollipop people and slashing dementia and neighbourhood services, why don’t you move to Guernsey? You’ll be in bad company.

Eclectic Blue


No Comments 19 June 2017

My early thoughts on the latest terrorist atrocity, this time at Finsbury park mosque, are down to one thing: how was the terrorist radicalised? It appears he was a “clean shaven” white man, so what was that inspired a clean shaven white man to kill people? Several people and organisations are in the frame.

High in the list must be Nigel Farage who has spent his entire political life losing elections and stirring up hatred, culminating in the evil posters before last June’s disastrous EU referendum. If you are given as much air time and space on newsprint as Farage, it is surely possible that some people, probably not the sharpest tools in the box, will see Farage as the some kind of anti-establishment man of the people who says things that other racists and bigots are afraid to say. In their eyes, Farage’s poison is mainstream opinion. The former, and probably future, Ukip leader has attempted to legitimise xenophobia and racism. I’d say his hands are covered in blood.

Speaking of hands covered in blood, step forward Paul Dacre of the Mail who has been stoking up hatred at the Mail ever since he became editor. Barely a day goes by without foreigners being blamed for all our failings. It would be wrong to say that all Mail readers are racists, bigots and xenophobes but by buying a newspaper that actively supports and promotes hate – and don’t be so stupid as to suggest it doesn’t – they condone it, unwittingly or not. You can obviously add the Sun and the stark ravingly bonkers Express to the list of haters and again if you buy the filth they come out with you are part of the problem.

And then you have the rent-a-mouth thugs like the EDL’s Tommy Robinson, Britain First and all manner of extreme figures and groups on the far right and you have a society in which an awful lot of people think it is perfectly reasonable to drive a van at a group of people whose crime happens to be the religion in which they believe.

The latest attack happens, ironically, the day after the Great Get Together which happened a year after the murder of the Labour MP Jo Cox by a right wing terrorist. We do not yet know the motives of the man who mowed down innocent people last night but we will soon find out. It is instructive to learn that when the man was caught last night his life was saved by the Imam. What an amazing act. After such an attack, who among us would have protected a thug from the mob until the police arrived? I’m not sure I would have done.

A terrorist is a terrorist is a terrorist. Last night’s awful attack was no different and no less disgusting from, say, the Westminster attack. And as we seek to discover how some muslims are radicalised we do well to do the same with “clean shaven” white men.

Eclectic Blue

The fight of the century

No Comments 18 June 2017

“The world is waiting for the Floyd Mayweather v Conor McGregor fight,” says the entire media. Is that so? Given that I have never seen Mayweather or McGregor fight in their respective sports, the world does not include me. So why should I be excited and why am I not?

I would imagine that for this cross-sports match-up will be something to behold. So far, I understand the undercard is stacking up really well. Phil “The Power” Taylor lines up against Usain Bolt, followed by Ronnie O’Sullivan against the Harlem Globetrotters. This is going to be some night. Except that it isn’t.

I know little about UFC other than the fact that men – or women – get into a cage and smack the shit out of each other until one or the other is unconscious. Boxing is very different though because two men – or women – get into a ring and smack the shit our of each other until one or the other is unconscious. Remember that distinction once you have paid your £25 or whatever it is that Sky charges you.

It appears that both men will receive a purse of something like £80 million for what is, in effect, a boxing friendly match. There will be no titles at stake, just a freak show for people with too much money and too much time on their hands.

The Mail on Sunday chief sportswriter Oliver Holt describes the fight as a “massive marketing stunt”, adding that “it’s a sideshow. It’s an offshoot. It’s a bit like the Battle of the Sexes between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs.” If you don’t like it, don’t buy it. Well don’t worry about that, Ollie. I certainly won’t. But millions will.

I can understand the attraction of boxing even if I get uneasy watching it. When a fighter gets smacked on the head over and over again, I know it is not good for him. When a rugby players suffers a head injury, he gets a concussion examination. When a boxer gets a head injury, the cornermen chuck water in his face and he carries on. You do not need to be a neurosurgeon to conclude that repeated head trauma will lead to brain injury. It is the noble art, but it is also a noble art that ends up with old fighters suffering from pugilista dementia. Muhammad Ali was the greatest boxer who ever lived but boxing took a terrible toll on his health.

I suspect I am not the only one who could not give a toss about the McGregor/Mayweather fight. It is about as much to do with sport as Big Daddy versus Giant Haystacks and will be every bit as dull.

But Phil Taylor against Usain Bolt. I can’t wait for that one.

Eclectic Blue

Father’s Day

No Comments 18 June 2017

How do you celebrate Father’s Day when your father has been dead for over six years? I don’t buy all this “I’ll bet you’re having a great time up in heaven” malarkey because, like my dad, I have never believed that somehow we would survive our own deaths and meet again. When he died, I was pretty certain that it was the end. Since then, nothing has happened to make me change my mind.

My dad, Anthony Johansen, was an incredible man, although we weren’t close until his later life. This was because for much of my life he lived in Canada and I lived in England. Whatever anyone says, miles can separate you in more ways than just geography. I missed the daily, weekly, monthly and sometimes yearly contact and I never got to know him properly until he was in his seventies. I am very grateful that I did get to know him and to spend some quality time with him. When he died, the loss hit me, but not as much as the lost time.

Having never had a father figure in my life did not affect my upbringing. At least that was what I thought. What you have, you don’t miss. But having children of my own, I now know what I missed. I am in no doubt that having a father at home would have given me a better, more stable life, some decent scholastic and professional advice and maybe, just maybe, better mental health.

Of course at the time of growing up, you don’t realise what you are missing. Everyone else had a dad who played football with them, took them places, helped them with homework. I really didn’t give it a single thought that I was not the same as them. My mum and I were very poor but again at the time I didn’t realise it. I thought everyone’s mum hung around the butcher shop after work to try and pick up the off cuts before they were thrown away. I assumed that when the milk ran out midweek, everyone would have to go without until Friday and pay day. I thought I was the same as everyone else. I wasn’t.

Not that I blame anyone for that. What’s the point? My mum and dad made a mistake by getting married and soon got divorced, but not before I turned up. That happens to lots of people. After the thrill is gone in a relationship, the future is dependent upon what’s left. I’ve been there too. I was left to muddle through school, muddle my way into a lifetime of dead end jobs and any potential I had never came to fruition. That’s just the way it was. I do sometimes feel “what if?”, which are the saddest words known to man, because I do feel that so much of my life was a waste of time. Until my soul mate came along and two children came along after. I determined at the outset that they would never be like me. That they would have all the opportunities I never had and they would have better lives. Seeing them succeed has been the great achievement of my life, although I readily acknowledge my partner deserves the majority of the credit.

My dad wanted the best for me and I felt his love particularly at his 75th birthday in 2004 and at his 80th in 2009, when I flew to Ottawa to see him. A few days after I took him to see John Fogerty in concert, I said goodbye, flew home and never saw him again. The next time I flew to Canada was in 2011 for his funeral.

I am thinking of my dad today, as I do on many days. I am grateful that we were eventually like a “normal” father and son and I am sad that for most of life we were anything but normal.

My final memory of him, just before I flew home in 2009, was seeing him sitting in the lounge listening to George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass on vinyl. He adored that album and so do I. And whenever I hear a track from it, I am immediately transported to that happy day some eight years ago when we were together.

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