Most people when they experience traumatic events, seem to lose weight. Me, I put weight on. Now, it's not that I envy them their trauma (split marriages, bereavement, serious illness), but honestly it's not bloody fair! I've been stressed to point of bankruptcy and breakdown and do I get less. No, I become more! I've been orphaned and had heart scares and does my fat decrease. No it decides to set up a permanent home on my waist. It's so unfair. I mean, at least if I was feeeling shit, I could cheer myself with the thought that there was less of me feeling shit than felt good six months earlier. But oh no those pounds and stones just come round, plonk themselves on my belly and have a good old chuckle at my expense. Even running over 40 miles a week has not shifted my weight. And before you start, I know that I'm not overweight (although I lie just outside the acceptable BMI), but I have been weight aware since childhood and since being the fat kid the PE teacher wanted as prop in the school rugby team, not because I was any good, but because I was fat.
But on different matters, the real reason for the post title, is my observation that when I am depressed I return to certain teenage and twenty-something bands and musicians to take me back to when life seemed so much easier and less burdensome. When I still had parents and didn't have responsibilities. So this last week I have been listening to a lot of Roger Waters (even Radio KAOS, which is not particularly good) and James. Comfort music I call it. Like having Mum's plum crumble or biscuit cake. And I'm trying to heed the message of optimism and humanity contained in "Every Stranger's Eyes". I'm trying really hard.
I love this song and it's on the list of the top 168 songs to be played at my funeral.
