I peer into the rear-view mirror/ at my sister’s baby face/The tears brimming
Over the years, while my mother’s faith in Christianity declined, her belief in country music only increased.
It was as if I had heard Bad Reputation for the first time. As it directly related to my sister. As it stands as a song. And it is, my friends, a ripper.
At home and still in my funereal black, I do the obligatory YouTube search for the track. The internet soon shepherds me away from The King’s back-catalogue to a tear-invoking power-ballad from a band I’d followed since the 1990s.
I’m watching Dad working on the huge driftwood table he’s been making out of wood that he’s found and dragged home from the beach.
I wasn’t a fan of his music, but I went along to impress the new fella in my life.
You are at the American War Museum with your daughter. Same age as your brother was back then. No life and death decisions in her life.
As fitting as it was to imagine Mrs Hart perched atop a fleecy cloud, my sympathies were firmly with her howling, motherless child.
Luke Davies pays tribute to his father, via Frank Sinatra's version of My Way.
One of my strongest memories is the pure joy we got out of making each other laugh. Belly laughs that happened while you hung upside down on the monkey bars were even more hilarious.