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Saturday, 13 February 2021

Earworm

As a lefty, I have some views that are seemingly against the lefty grain (and against the inevitable rightward political crawl of a society in which money is always power, and those in the upper classes control the output of the media media, albeit the Islington left, or the Etonian right).

One of these almost unpalatable views has me shunned by left and right alike (and some music lovers ). And yesterday, while teaching in our school "bubble," turned the we'ans against me, as I subjected them , periodically, to my earworm outloud (from beneath my mask). Though it did cause a conversation about what an earworm was , and I learned about the types of songs that get stuck in their heads (mostly computer game tunes).
Yesterday (and today), I had an earworm. An earworm few anticapitalists would dare admit, except me. And the we'ans in the bubble were subjected to it for the five hours they had in class with me. The effect of this earworm almost did to them, what a drunk guy on an overnight ferry to Liverpool from Belfast, did to us in the mid seventies.

My family were on route to Blackpool for a family holiday, and mum and dad had decided to bring us across on the ferry. We didnt have a berth, so we found seats in the bar, and tried to sleep while folk got drunk around us. One guy, all night, sang, "I - put - my Brutus jeans on, I pull my Brutus jeans on..."  He'd fall silent, we'd  all start to doze off and then, "I - put- my Brutus jeans on..." I remember we all laughed for a while, but people got fed up with him and groans and shouts of, "Shut up!" would come from every working class corner of that bar... Communal torture by earworm. 

The we'ans, were subjected to...

"Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around your gypsy heart.
Don't turn around, don't turn around again.
Don't turn around, and don't look back.
Come on now love, don't you look back."

A brilliant song on a superb album, in a string of great albums, from The Unforgettable Fire to Zooropa. 

Look. Bono isn't Morrissey, or Gary Glitter. So don't start.

" Whose gonna ride your wild horses... "

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