No-man’s land between New Year and pay-day is the least hospitable place of the year. Forced to count in coppers as coins small and smaller regain their status as legitimate currency. Even the ducks can’t be arsed making the modest swim across the mirrored pond to accept our offer of stale bread. The new bike is wearily abandoned mid-cycle in solidarity with them so we walk it back to the car then bundle ourselves into the house with a collective relief none of us own up to.
For every set of speakers blasting Bowie across suburbia this week there must be the same in neighbours wishing someone would turn it the fuck down. Consideration for ours is fleeting with the volume creeping upwards incrementally with each passing video. Our girl’s not sure if he’s a boy or a girl but gives up caring eventually. She claims every song as her favourite. I think she’s lying; it’s Starman. We debate the merits of Bowie versus Michael Jackson. She looks at me pitifully when I suggest there’s no contest. Don’t be silly, Mum. She hasn’t learned to eye-roll yet so laughs instead. Her musical loyalties are taking shape, another marker of her move further into the forest of independence. And wilful disobedience.
No-man’s land between New Year and pay-day was probably the only time of year Bowie could depart. Nature has the grace to be grieving already. The light respectfully hangs at half mast giving sufficient visibility for small hands to grab older ones to swing one another around the hearth to wake the dead and ourselves momentarily up out of the January fug.
department of speculation 
I don’t normally buy into the collective grief for celebrities but Bowie’s death has really hit me. And then Alan Rickman a few days later just to finish us off altogether.
Aside from that, your daughter is getting a wonderful music education. I am the fifth child and I think my parents had given up completely on music/all things frivolous by the time I came along!
The outpouring of shock is such a reflection of his artistic stature eh. And Rickman. A bleak week. I hope someone’s keeping a close eye on Neil Young. I was lucky to flee my parents’ music tastes and develop my own by copying the brothers. It could’ve been catastrophic either way. At least your sister gave you the gift of The Blue Nile 🙂
Don’t mention Neil Young, my brother would actually go to ground if anything happened there! My sister gave me good rounded tastes alright 🙂
Love it.
Thanks 🙂
Lovely 🙂
🙂
(The Ballinleck Herald? What parallel universe are you inhabiting? Can I visit?)
I don’t know why that fuckin came up! Thing for a film project yoke, will explain WHEN WE MEET! 😉
*intrigued as two intrigued things stuck together with highly curious adhesive*
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It’s madness that Bowie was a year ago. Feels like a couple of months ago. What’s happening to time?
A year today. Imagine? I don’t want him to have an anniversary. I don’t want commemorations or programmes dedicated to obscure b-sides. Or talking heads waxing lyrical over his brilliance. How…pedestrian.