Shakira's Mysterious Magic.

Earlier this evening I was possessed of an urgent desire to watch the official video of Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie again. Heaven knows why, but possessed I was and so watch it I did.

Ye gods and little fishes!

The lyrics; the dark Latino setting; the sinuous movement; the witchy eyes; the voice (which her high school music teacher said sounded like a goat – some goat.) And all finished off by the magic Shakira smile. Shakira’s smile is more than just a smile, you see, much more. It’s a light source.

I’m not the sort of person who is supposed to like Shakira, you know. My daughter even joked about it once. And I have no interest whatsoever in any of the other modern lady pop nightingales. Taylor Swift and her ilk might as well be checkout operators in Tesco for all the interest I have in them.

But Shakira exudes that certain something which has no name, but shatters the shell, grabs hold of something inside, and refuses to let go.

I wonder whether that’s what a crush is. And at my age, too. Shameful.

(And why am I suddenly writing again? Is it Mercury’s birthday or something?)