I wish I’d never done that last post! Didn’t realise what I was going to start. My in box has been pretty busy since. I had no idea so many people wanted to be in my music blog! Unfortunately you don’t just get to be in the blog because I like you and you asked nicely. You do need to make some sort of contribution. Like recommending some songs that I might enjoy. Or reminding me of a happy memory relating to music. Or giving me the inspiration for a future blog post.
There are just a few rules. We need to stay light hearted. This blog is here for enjoyment and to cheer up a dreary day. I am not writing any more posts about lost love. I made this mistake once and it stirred up too many emotions. I am not getting into discussions about any more angst ridden music like that Millie Jackson album we did a while ago. I want a positive and happy feel to this blog which rules out any talk of music by The Smiths, Leonard Cohen or Nick Drake.
So in contrast to the last post about a new friend, today it’s the turn of old childhood friends. The ladies who can reduce you to fits of girlish giggles with just one memory. We recently got into reminiscing about the experience of first kisses. They say you never forget your first kiss. I will now give you a perfect demonstration of the importance of music in my life and the power of a song.
Women of my age will know immediately what I mean when I say that in the early 70s you were either a David girl or a Donny girl. It was not possible to like both. Me and my pals were all David girls. David had a certain look in his eye. There was a maturity there. He knew what real love was all about. We considered ourselves to be more grown up than the Donny girls. Donny looked like the nice boy next door who you could take home to meet your Mum. David was something completely different.
So let me set the scene for you. (Don’t worry - I have decided to omit my Mother from my blog mailing list). It’s church youth club night. Only we’re not at the youth club up the road where you play table tennis under bright lights and the ever watchful eye of the vicar. We’ve sneaked off to the youth club in the next town where supervision is performed with a lighter touch. There you can find music, lots of boys to have smoochy dances with and suitably dark corners.
I can’t remember what I was wearing. Sadly I can’t even recall the name of the lad or what he looked like. No idea what that dance or the kiss felt like. It may sound strange that I have no memory of such an important moment in a girl’s life. I think what has happened is that I have deliberately blanked the experience from my mind.
Remember what I said earlier? I was a David girl. Unfortunately my first kiss was accompanied by the horrendous sound of Donny Osmond singing “Puppy Love”.
