I’m a white, middle class, well into middle-aged man. I wear darkish blue trousers, black shoes, shirts in a lighter blue, cardigans, car jackets, black peak caps. You could happily kit me out in M&S at a reasonable price. I have smirky smile, small glasses and am clean-shaven, even on the top of my head.
Imagine you see me as I go about my daily business. You wouldn’t give me a second glance. I like to listen to music through black, barely noticeable earbuds as I do my foraging. If you did spot them, you might think I’m listening to Nat King Cole, The Temptations or Berlioz. But, I like to confound expectations.
I don’t feel able to share with you all the thoughts that go around my head. Suffice to say, they are closer to those of a nineteen year old than my actual age. At nineteen, I was engrossed in reggae and post-punk and liked nothing better than hearing and watching a skinny person giving a guitar a good thrashing. The Buzzcocks hit the spot perfectly.
So, no, I’m not easy listening through those buds. I’m enjoying an unholy racket, loud enough to frighten horses and » Continue Reading.