I sang at the top of my lungs

My car started making some pretty fearsome noises a day or so ago. It sounded, according to my eldest son, ‘like a helicopter’. And typically, I had just had it MOT’ed last week.

By this morning, the noise of it had become more than just an irritation. It was stressing the life out of me, conjuring up visions of wheels clattering off into oncoming traffic as I navigated the school run; visions of pile-ups and injured schoolkids. Fortunately I managed to safely deliver all three of my children to school and nursery, but by the time I set off for the garage, I just couldn’t listen to that noise any more. Up to the max went the volume control on the stereo and before long, I was belting along to Blur’s On Your Own

I’ve got an okay voice, nothing brilliant but certainly nothing embarrassing (“I’m not that good but I’m not that bad…” Geddit?) But that was hardly the point. Man it felt good. Sun beating down, legs out (in a skirt) for the first time this year, just hyped enough on an a.m caffeine buzz to switch my sense of unease about the car over into reckless yeah whateverness. When the song was over, I hit the back button and played it all over again.



I remembered this song

This morning, making pancakes for my children and their sleepover friends, conversation turned to how mornings usually pan out in our various households.

“Every morning when I wake up,” I said, and stopped. Something vague and long- forgotten stirred in my mind. An image of Captain Morgan. Snow. The faint strain of a boy band-ish song.


It didn’t take a lot of googling to find this song, which seemed to get near-constant air time the winter I spent in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where I lived and snowboarded with a group of guys from places as far-flung as New Zealand and Alaska. Since Captain Morgan (I may have to add a bottle to my next Ocado order for old times’ sake now) was a big part of our five-a-day, we used to find it nothing short of hilarious that the lyrics seem to say something along the lines of “Captain Morgan every morning.”


It’s not exactly a, ahem, brilliant song, and I don’t exactly yearn to be go through my days in a booze-soaked, ‘Alright dude!” fug any more. But it’s bound up with memories of good times from a stage in my life of which I have few tangible reminders, and I haven’t been able to help playing it several more times today.