Songs I Listen To While I Write

Once you are awakened from a peaceful sleep, the groundhog day starts as it normally does and you turn off the incessant alarm as if it’s a petulant child pulling at your sleeve. The digital neon green numbers blink slowly into full beam and thoughts of what the day will bring encourage your senses to admit defeat one by one.

One Direction blasts from wee C’s room. As you can imagine there is a lot of dancing and singing in front of the mirror with nothing but pants on. Wee/Big N’s room is more sedate, I say sedate, I just mean he makes his own music in his head and sings freely at the top of his lungs, shouting instructions to wee C to ‘turn it to No 6’ if the mood takes him.

I weep softly into my housecoat as I head downstairs for breakfast. The clatter of cereal bowls and questions about where babies come from, fill my ears in a way that I would not be surprised to see the Scottish Chamber Orchestra going through their warm up in my back garden. I would offer them a cuppa though. Bit nippy out there this morning.

I turn on the radio and leave it on the local station. The hearty laugh of the nutters I like to listen to while I wake up, fill up the room and make me smile. I have no idea what they are talking about but they are funny. It’s too early for my brain to comprehend anything yet. Adele’s rolling in the deep. Again.

I eventually decide to say ‘hello world’ and I opt for ‘The Cure’ to sooth my aching ears while I get dressed. Not realising that I will be humming ‘Close to You’ for the rest of the day.

The school run is the usual traipse of me, the gasping Mum trying to keep up with two scooter kings as they meander their way through the streets towards their haven. And yes, you will wear your helmet. End of.

On the road home, I ask myself the same question every morning…why did I forget my headphones? I scroll through the albums on my phone and sigh in the knowledge that it will be at least half an hour before I get to listen to any of them.

The quiet house awaits me and I embrace its charm as I put my slippers on and make myself a hot cuppa (god I sound about 95!). I pass three cold half- empty cups of tea before I get to the kitchen, so I savour this fresh one and hold it close.

My wee desk sits waiting for me (well, the dining table really) so I head there and immerse myself in chapters 1 and 2, again.  I know, I know but it’s just not quite right yet. Today I feel nostalgic and full of energy so instead of  my usual leather-clad Jim Morrison and his intrepid Doors, I head down the road of TTF. The Time Frequency for all you young ones out there reading this and thinking, the who?

The Who. Now there’s a band! Roger Daltry swinging his snake-like hips all over the shop. Fantastic. Not quite sure Tommy will put me in the right frame of mind though. Whatever floats your boat really. Who are you? Who? Who? Who? Who?….and then the US series CSI Vegas springs to mind. I did like the New York one too though. I’m digressing, sorry.

No. Today I listened to The Beautiful South, with all its sheep, fun and caravans. I was in 90’s rapture. Quite a nostalgic day for me.

I was getting distracted so I switched to the insatiable James Morrison and his easy ballads to lead me through the afternoon. But only after a short reprieve at lunchtime that had me reaching for Back in Black by ACDC to get me back in the mood after my sandwich. Nothing like a bit of air-guitar to get the old ticker beating again.

The clock ticked by and I found myself clearing my ‘desk’ away and running the gauntlet that is ‘pick-up’ time. All the way up the road Nina Simone sang/purred to me about wanting to put sugar in my bowl. I don’t know her that well, so I really shouldn’t let her do that.

The school rings its shrieking bell and we head home to Harry, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Louis. Or as all the cool kids called them 1D.

Nina, Roger, Paul, Jim and James shake their heads in disbelief. We’ll get them next year, they say.

I can’t really comment on that because I was a huge Bros fan back in the day. A ‘Brosette’ as we were known. Neckerchiefs, bottle tops – I had the lot…WHAT was I thinking! ‘I owe you nothing’ they tried to sing back then. No, really you do. You owe me five years of my life back.

I pull the lever on my record player and listen to the sound of the needle making it’s first scratch onto the moving vinyl. “Well, Saturday night at 8 o’Clock, I know where I’m gonna go…” rings through the air as I start to sing The Drifters at the top of my voice, sending the cats flying out the cat-flap and into the safe arms of their outdoor playground.