The first words I ever pretended to read were Dire Straits as my mum handwrote the album details on the cassette she’d just dubbed Brothers in Arms onto. My brother whispered to me what it said and I repeated it aloud to the surprise of already proud mum, who I quickly put straight, never wanting to be seen as anything greater than I was.
This morning I woke with ‘So far away from me’ in my head and there I was back at that kitchen table, that kitchen of so many homebrand haircuts and baking afternoons, tears over flooded lino, burnt muesli and frustrations I will never fully understand and those lyrics that I just didn’t get or know I one day would.
And there’s Mark Knopfler again telling me passion can be mumbled, electric, eighties and understated, cheesy with rhyme and as powerful as those words printed, whispered, shared, confessed, recalled. As powerful as memory itself.