Friday, 7 February 2014


So there I sat in a long traffic queue waiting for my turn to get through a set of temporary traffic lights. By then the rain was falling steadily and the low grey sky was making a damn good job of painting everything else the same colour. I grew irritated by the sight and sound of the windscreen wipers, so I switched them off. After that, all I could see was a hazy facsimile of the vehicle in front which hadn’t moved for three minutes.

I had Eva Cassidy’s Songbird album playing at the time, and one track in particular calmed my ruffled feathers like pouring oil on a jacuzzi. I was going to post it to the blog, but when I found it on YouTube and read the lyrics, I changed my mind. The melody and arrangement are charming, and Eva Cassidy’s delivery flawless and soulful as ever. But how anybody could render the poignancy of personal loss in words so mawkish and clumsy that even Hallmark would probably disown them is beyond me. I think it might be better not to name this inglorious effort for fear of having a chartered B52 winging its way to the Shire, intent upon making a large hole where JJ once was. The YouTube commenters were, as you might imagine, fulsome in its praise.

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