I first read it on holiday in Greece a few years ago, and I loved it. That was a nice holiday. This morning, reading on the 07:01 to Blackfriars, through sleepy eyes, my plane ticket stub fell out into my lap.
20th May - it didn't say the year. Maybe 2011? I can't be sure now.
I have long been in the habit of using such things as makeshift bookmarks. Occasionally this has caused embarrassment - a friend borrowing a book and finding a love letter within its pages. Usually just baffling - train tickets from unremarkable and long-forgotten journeys, the details of which I cannot recall.
It's been a long week. I feel uncharacteristically tired. Train strikes and too much work and stress and sh*t.
Reading Kristin Hersh, and all that other stuff, this song is in my head. I remember a whole day once of listening to it on repeat, on vinyl (a record and a record player that weren't mine), in the flat in Market Street. A sunny Saturday.
I used to have a Throwing Muses album cover on my bathroom wall. I don't any more.
It's still a beautiful song.
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