In Askrigg, there is not much talk about happiness but there is much evidence of it.
Occasionally the tensions in the house would boil over. Our mother would pick a fight over the dinner. Our father would try his best to be diplomatic, interpreting for each of the women as to what they may have meant. We would slink away, hiding in favourite places until things had simmered down.
I could see the bright lights of the Barracuda Fish and Chip Shop as a cheery spot in front of me. The door opened; smell and music spilled out. Fish and chips and doner kebabs and Build me Up Buttercup with all its warm yellowness. I sang along. I would be home soon.
As the circular crowd of angular, awkward teenagers missed the timing, we spotted Harriet and Mr Reynolds in the middle of the throng.
He tried his best to explain the finer parts of Spanish grammar, all of which I have forgotten. Such an unrewarding task. Even at 15 I could recognise this. But unlike other teachers he never raised his voice, or said threatening things, and he never gave any detentions. I could imagine him going home to his drab brown life, eating drab brown food and having to mark our very drab homework.
I realised the work that had gone into placing the songs in this order, and that listening on an electronic device with shuffle on, does not allow the connection between the songs.