Yo, swimmers. It’s been a while. Still, it’s a brand new year; time to leave the sadness, disappointments and malaise of 2015 behind.
It’s funny, in the course of writing this short paragraph I decided to revisit the music I was listening to when I last wrote TFI. Weird. Music is a peculiar and very personal punctuation mark for life’s events, don’t you think?
Last year, after a particularly spiky observation I made about the quality of music at some event or gathering, someone asked me what exactly would make me get up and dance. Clearly the music was shite in this particular instance and – obviously in some attempt to minimise offence – I replied that I think we all have a frequency, a rhythm that fits, draws us in, gets that foot a-tapping, those fins a-wiggling. But as we all know, there really is no accounting for taste or a complete lack of imagination or curiosity…
Here’s one that has me up and dancing with my usual partner, kitchen wall (strong, solid, silent type). As MM (who doesn’t dance, ever) will testify, I’m never happier than when dancing barefoot, in a corner, with my back to the world, after a couple of shandies.
It’s 2016 calling; let’s start anew.