Not Quite My Way.

Sometimes when I hear a song – or even get one stuck in my head for some reason, as I have today – which was popular when I was a boy, it doesn’t only evoke memories of circumstances and environments prevalent at the time. Occasionally it connects me with my old sense of self and perception of life back then. I literally, though briefly, feel like the child I was.

It always takes me aback a little, and is usually followed by a feeling of disappointment that life didn’t turn out the way I expected it to. There have been thrills and spills and the occasional grand adventure along the way, but never any overall sense that life met my vague childhood expectations. It all feels a little too rhapsodic; there’s no architectural edifice on which to look back with satisfaction. And so, of course, it always takes me one step further into the old question: ‘what on earth was it all for?’

I’m the same with food, you know. I can have some favourite dish and enjoy it until it’s finished, but once the last piece has been swallowed there’s no rubbing of tummy and exclamations of yum, yum. Once it’s gone the pleasure disappears completely.

And do you want to know what prompted this little outburst? It was seeing a video on YouTube about the surprisingly high number of deaths connected with the playing of Sinatra’s My Way in Malaysian karaoke bars.