There’s something about quizzes.
I’m not talking the pub game type where you join up in teams and shout
out the answers huddled together over the pork scratchings and in which the MC
for the night (usually a regular who is normally to be seen sobbing into a pint
in the corner) is puffed up with self importance at his 15 minutes of fame and
marches around disqualifying the half pissed punters who heckle him.
No, I’m talking about the little quizzes on social media. The ones that ask you to answer a few
questions and then somehow they define your personality. There are literally hundreds. They are also a way of gathering data on you,
your likes and dislikes, your name, your friends names. But we all know this, and buy into this, and it
becomes a bit of a laugh – why on earth did I turn out to be Sandy in Grease? Despite living in London and down south for
many years, I am apparently a Northerner, and in another quiz my ideal town to
live in is Cheltenham… And my colour is Pink (Motto is go go go! But you also
know how to relax and recharge your batteries for the next big thing. You like
to work hard, play hard and nap hard). And so you see, it goes on.
It’s been a funny, busy old week – sleepovers x 2, day out at Legoland
Windsor, a cinema trip, a photo shoot, a trip to London, a night out at Harry
Hills I Can’t Sing- X factor musical and G going in to hospital for an
operation to remove his gall bladder.
Some days we don’t know whether we are up or down. And so it is with a sense of relief that we come
to Sunday, and it’s raining. I have a
half drowned Eldest Son, who valiantly continued with his Sunday paper round so
that the good people of Mytchett have something to hide behind at the breakfast
table, a Middle Son who is somewhere in Middle Earth over at a friend’s house,
Little Man is bright and breezy and inventing something on the computer, and G
is safely ensconced in bed. It is
08.15. Gone are the days of lie ins,
lazy Sunday lunches at the pub, crashing out on the sofa in front of an ancient
film.
I was browsing through Facebook and found Whats the Theme Tune of Your Life ?This little gem gave you the No 1
Hits when you turned a specific age. I
scrolled idly through the ages, starting at the oldest option – age 21. It was
Kylie Minogue, Tears on My Pillow. Very
apt, I had just broken up with my First Real Love. You may remember those days, and how
traumatic they were. You have no idea if you will ever love again, until you
do, and realise that actually, your first real love was probably lust, and that
it becomes a first real love only in your mind, and only because it ended. On
to 18 – Jackie Wilson, Reet Petite, yup, having fun at the Student Union bar at
University, and dancing to live bands such as Katrina and the Waves and
Transvision Vamp. Over to 16, Foreigner,
I Want To Know What Love is – hmm, probably quite accurate. This was the age when I felt really uncomfortable
in my acne ridden skin. Back through the
ages to 14, the same age as my son is now, it was Phil Collins You Can’t Hurry
Love – advice I will be giving him in bucketfuls. Down to age 12, (age of next son) and John
Lennon with Imagine – ah yes, like him I had
lots of money making ideas (mainly involving lemonade stalls)much to the
annoyance of everyone around me – a very imaginative and creative age.
My musings were disturbed by my
mobile buzzing. A text, with one word.
<Tea?>
My husband would love to have a little bell by his bedside with which to
summon me, but times have moved on...
Before rushing to put the kettle on, I clicked on the last option – 0,
the day I was born.
Marmalade,
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. What?!!!
Says it all really.
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