Soundtrack: David Axelrod - Song of Innocence
Ooh Thom and I have booked a holiday for the end of May! We're going to Kalami in Corfu, and I am beyond excited. It's been several years since I went on just a beach holiday - that was Benidorm in 2000. Don't laugh. I went with Sue and my parents, we met auntie Carole and uncle Alan out there, and it was the last holiday we went on as a family. It was my parents' 25th wedding anniversary (they split up the year after *cough*) but I do look back on that holiday fondly. It was a week of swimming, sangria with illegal alcohol content, karaoke and a dodgy vegetarian diet (chips and spring rolls was the resort's main offerings). Oh, and 'Sticky Vicky' who shot ping pong balls out of her vagina. Ooh, and my being 'hypnotised' (it didn't work) and having to fake an orgasm on stage and in front of my parents. Anyway, all that aside, it was a bloody good holiday, so I'm due another beach holiday.
Thankfully, Thom and I chose Kalami because it won't have any of the above. It will just be quiet beaches, a couple of tavernas, lots of hills, no kids and the 'lively nightlife' being 20mins away by bus. Ok, so I'm obviously turning old before my time, but I'm desperately in need of time off from life. A week of just sun, sea, sand and knitting.
I've just got back from Marks and Spencers. I went there to buy garlic bread but invariably came back with swim wear. A 'tankini', they call it. Vest and knickers, I call it. I didn't have the guts (or perhaps an abundance of guts) to go with a bikini - even if we do find a secluded cove somewhere.
I was leaving the shop and having a conversation in my head, as you do. I had one of those moments where I was leaving through the door, and someone was entering the same door. I let her open the door, rather than smacking it open in her face, and was continuing the conversation in my head, Jackson 5 blaring in my lugholes, just not really thinking about things.
'Oh, well thank you very much. No problem. You've very welcome.'
This woman coming through the other side was pissed off that I hadn't congratulated her on her door management skills. I usually do say thank you - in fact I still did on this occassion, just after I walked through. I wasn't on the ball, talking to myself. But once walking up the street I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I didn't say thanks on time to this woman. Not that she deserved it, being a narky cow. But still.
I'm obsessed with David Axelrod right now. You know when you hear a song that just hits you, and you need to hear more? Well that happened with 'Holy Are You' by Electric Prunes, which is basically David Axelrod using the band's name for himself. So since I heard this song, I've been on the look out for more David Axelrod. It must have been before Christmas when I heard 'Holy Are You', but could I find anymore Axelrod anywhere? NO! Now, he was quite a big producer and composer in his time. A kind of 60s/70s pre-prog orchestral psychedelia. Why the hell can't I find him??
Finally, I found Axelrod's album Song of Innocence in Glasgow's Mono. And I am, it's fair to say, obsessed. You would expect Oxford Street's Virgin Megastore - the biggest record shop in London - to have it though, wouldn't you? Could I find it? Could I 'eckers, like. I explained this quandary to Thom. A lightbulb flickered over his head, and he drags me down to 'soundtracks'. Nope, it's not there.
And then my stomach sinks... I know where he'll be... I really hope not... I take Thom by the hand... I walk into the section I promised myself I would never darken the doors of... I look under 'A'.
There he is.
David Axelrod is filed under JAZZ.
I don't like jazz. There's a lot of genres I didn't used to like, but I've grown to adore. That's maturity for you. But jazz - it's just not me. I can't stand it when my boss plays his iRiver full blast in the office, all the drums, and the saxes, and the trumpets trying to outdo each other simultaneously in a Mariah carey-stylee. I hate it. I hate it when Thom tries to inflict Miles Davis on me. It's all too cacophonic, and I need to shower afterwards. And there he is, David Axelrod.
My first jazz record.