Every so often I have the craving to go and excavate my past. Today I was looking for some remembrance of the Brazilian electronica sampler I used to have, as it doesn’t appear on Spotify, as yet, and I remembered I’d written about it for a blog I used to have, You Can Call Me Betty. I was quite proud of this blog: I averaged a post per weekday for most of it, and all about the music I loved. It got to be too much like a chore to keep up, as it’s pretty hard-going keeping up that consistency, but there was some good times: as well as the series on Brazilian electro I did a month-long run of music from World Cup countries, and a special on old school hip hop.

But it’s funny to read, because my blogs have always been – while avoiding obvious personal, private stuff, pretty much based on what I was thinking and feeling at the time, so I can sense myself, 4 years ago. And goodness, but what has changed.

First, and most importantly, The Boss actually is a genius and I tell myself off for thinking otherwise.

Up there with that, I’ve moved house four times (to Wood Green, to elsewhere in Wood Green, to Walthamstow, to Enfield), stopped that blog and started several others, taken up allotmenteering, the mandolin, occasional baking and hearty, many-portioned cookery, Birkenstocks, dance music and Tom Waits, geography and Ian Rankin. Most excitingly of course, I’ve managed to con a beautiful woman into marrying me and making me happy. That’s the big one.

Apparently I was totally emo then as well, who’d have thought. I leave you with a poem about chocolate digestives.


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