Qvicky

There are some albums and videos (yeah, you know, the original stuff, aka vinyl and tape) that become secret loves, that always bring a smile to the face, but never, under pain of death, an admission of approval to the lips.

Admitting, for example, to still liking one or two numbers by Mud or Showaddywaddy could be expected to go down like a concrete boot in the Hudson, wherever or whenever you blurted that out. If you have read some of my earlier posts, its pretty clear, I think, that biological functions don't phase me in the slightest, but owning up to a corny secret liking for some equally corny old music is making me squeamish and taking real guts, I promise.

I have to admit that Mud's version of the Buddy Holly song, Oh Boy, formed a seminal part of my development (influential, not spunky.) My dad was a radio four fan and 'owned' the radio, so I was never really concentrated on 'pop' like some girls and at fourteen years old back in 1975 I was also an academic type, aka late developer, so that track was one of the first that had me hankering for an album, or a copy of Disco 45 for the lyrics. The era was great, really, I mean I got all the overly passionate genius nerds when I did finally wake up, instead of the gum chewing bad boys.

Backtrack - maybe not so great, I was tired of being romanced by tomorrow's leaders in the end, and had a disastrous first marriage after falling for something inappropriate with a streetwise twinkle in its eye. Good grief, I never thought of that match as a rebound thing, before. Wow. Let's not go there, in any case I touched on that age in an earlier post, although I admit I still have a penchant for 'nerds' - guitar players (notch it up to 12 strings and you're it!), roadies, electricians and anyone really with long fingers with no curve at all to the tips. Have a look, all the guys with hands like that are into IT or piano playing or somesuch 'deep thought' profession. Oddly its one of the last things I notice, it just happens to be a recurring similarity.

I'm doing really well today, huh - half a dozen tangents in half as many paragraphs, so back to the point. Hic, durr, blurble.

I started this post and the remeniscences about Mud (I switched allegience briefly for the lead singer in Showaddy but then got swept off on the Bay City Roller thing), ahem - I started that as a short (haha! yeah right) preamble to admitting I like the equally ancient and kitsch George Hamilton movie, Love At First Bite.

The reason that particular work came to mind was because my husband is home today. I had visions of cramming every romantic or messy entanglement possible into the few hours before picking the kids up from school. He, however, announced he was walking to town to go to the bank. "Oh well" thinks I, ever the optimist, "I have time to do a post on my blog, just a quicky". My sarcastic side, however, was still staring at my lost plans for a romp, and thats where George came in with the one really memorable catchphrase from that movie.

"Never a qvicky, always a longy"

Yeah right George, good for you mate. Huh.