The Archive

Of wooly hats and wobbly walls

Terribly sorry for the insufficient postage of late (note, that was a small tribute to Norm, for those of you in the know).

I've been busy at work. Not busy in my normal 'barely get to read the whole of the Guardian during the day' way either. Proper 'buy low, sell high, frozen pork bellies' stressful and busy.

I hate it. Hard work is arse.

But I sit here, editing Historical Laughter - the book that I'm rather banking on to change everything in my life in one Fairy Godmother flash of tinsel - and something really odd just happened.

I'm in one of Halifax's nice, high end bars.

OK, OK, I'm in Halifax's one, nice bar.

Through the speakers they are piping a range of mellow hip hop, old school beats and classic Motown. And then suddenly, just now, a really familiar tune started up.

The weird, twangy intro stirred a memory deep inside me. I knew this song. And then it hit me.

It was the theme from Crossroads.

As in the motel, with Benny and Miss Diane.

Like Proust's madeleine, memories rushed in on me.

Although unlike Prousts's mine were mostly of watching Crossroads, which will perhaps result in a less interesting book.

Still, I feel all weird now. And I thought you should know.

Happy long weekend everyone.

posted by Peter The Great @ 1:40 PM