It's funny how memory works.
You know how you'll just be sitting there nursing a hangover and you'll get a sudden, I'll call it memory spike, out of the blue? Something will jolt your brain and a runaway image of standing on a table in a bar, cupping your chest and screaming Bonnie Tyler at random strangers will just come hurtling back?
Don't act like you don't know what I mean.
Personally, these give me an enormous shooting pain and my toes and fingers curl tight and I groan.
Every now and then, say once every six months, I'll be totally sober as a judge (yeah, it happens) and - blamo! - memory spike.
So I've just been sat being a diva in the office, rocking about in my desk chair to Kenny Loggings like the Cadbury guy because I'm a massive bad ass (yeah, fuck you, ima footloose ya ass)
Aaaand somehow I've just remembered. Oh god I remembered. You weren't theeere, man. I've just remembered... I was in a pop duo in school (like, age 12/13.) Shiiiit.
It was me and a close friend and we wrote lyrics to those pre-programmed terrible midi file sample tracks that you used to get on a casio keyboard in the late nineties.
It was crap about being cool and sexy and all that.
In some horrific fluorescent kappa tracksuit looking like a weird mix of Sporty Spice and East 17, giving it large, dancing and singing in assembly in front of half the school in a massive sports hall with a terrible PA system and a £40 mini keyboard. Heroic.
What ever lead us to believe this was a good idea I've no idea.
Fortunately, it's pretty fucking warm in my office today so I can style our going a crazy shade of plum in involuntary embarrassment at myself.
We fucking rock when we're kids. That's my excuse.
CUT LOOSE! FOOTLOOSE!
(by the way, I'm well aware that listening to Kenny Loggings without any irony should be the most embarrassing part of this blog but go suck a fuck <3, guilty pleasures are for hipsters and pussies.)
