The Ringtone

Some people will know what I mean when I say that damn George Michael song. Some people will know why. Suffice it to say it concerns Blue Eyes. Every year I am forced to listen to that damn song, and every year it gets closer and closer to Christmas Eve. You would think that since the Jellicle and I got together close enough to Christmas that I would be immune.

Apparently not. This year I have listened to George in shopping malls, department stores, played by random bands and sung by my pupils…it pissed me off (yes I know for no logical reason) but that was it. I falsely assumed immunity of a sort.

Well no immunity. I am currently engaged in illustrating the New Year vocabulary…and one of the teachers phones went off. Da-dada da-da-da-da-da, dadedadeda-da, da-dada-dada…

Suddenly my throat constricts. Suddenly theres pricking behind my eyes. And equally suddenly and surprisingly to me my automatic response system kicks in and my legs are propelling me towards the ladies.

It happens every year. And every year I think that it won’t. Its only a few seconds but suddenly I am back in Royston Vasey and all the shit that that entails. I’m in Japan oh subconcious o’ mine and I haven’t lived at home for years.

5 thoughts on “The Ringtone

  1. Music and scent are two of the keys to memory, and the programming (and reprogramming) of parts of our psyche…as the traditions of magic and witchcraft have clearly been aware of for millenia.

    Yeah, I know, not very helpful when you are in the grip of the remembered experience. On the other hand, you have the techniques to change the responses for next time…should you choose to have a go.


    PS. It’s bloody hard work by the way!

  2. Aargh! Now the bloody song is on the radio somewhere in the office…maybe a hammer would provide an easier method of correction?

  3. Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’m gonna give it to someone special. Once bitten, twice shy, da de da da da… ah bollocks, I can’t be bothered.

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