Marathon driving, being in your 40s and the Cure

I am up early. I have a marathon of seeing-friends-and-telling-daughter-I-have-cancer weekend ahead of me. And no mean drive...probably tot up 400 miles over the next few days.

I didn't go to sleep until 1am. For some reason I flicked through the channels whilst in bed and saw the Matrix was on ITV4. I have seen this film...more than once. But I sat through it to the end...don't know why, but I have an inkling I thought I ought to see it again as I liked it first time around, Keanu is cute and I might never have the chance again (but my, hasn't the actor who played Morpheus put on weight since he made that film?).

In fact, the last few days seem to be a bit of a 'nostalgia fest' generally. I keep thinking about my life in terms of images, sounds and smells flashing before me. Not morbidly so, I am around for a bit yet...but I am sure it is natural to think about the past. I was 40 last year, and I didn't like it. 30 was great and I have never been bothered about age before...but 40 hit me like a dead fish around the mandible. Why? Don't know...perhaps the whole 'there's probably more behind me than in front of me' thing...the evaluation of a life lived so far...an evaluation of love lost, potential unused and fuck-ups. Being 40 was not great...but hey, it was better than what 41 has brought to the great table of life so far!

So there has been a lot of Cure this last few days. I like the Cure. Not so much that I know the name of every track on every album...I am generally awful at track names...but I know a lot of the lyrics and make those up as I go along for the rest. But the Cure nicely sums up my teen years of angst...I was a teenage goth. Well, not really, really. I wore a lot of black. I still do. I wore black eye liner, wore a lot of leather, PVC and velvet and flirted with the darker side of teenage life. I went to dark clubs in the basements of Soho...gigs up and down the country...smoked the odd joint and dropped a smattering of acid...Glastonbury...fantasised about marrying Dave Vanian of the Damned and having Nick Cave's babies.

Anyway, Head on the Door by the Cure has been on the Ipod these last few days. This album (1985) brings all the sights, smells and sounds of my teenagedom back to life. I like Push...great Cure track.

What would I tell my younger self? Not that I have cancer. I'd tell myself to enjoy my body more at 16...girl, you were gorgeous! Tall, slim and athletic. Your bum wasn't too big, your tits were great and you had great hair (Siouxie of the Banshees, eat your heart out). Your PVC trousers and rubber t-shirt made men melt...they were hitting on you the whole time and you, you stupid girl, you didn't realise!!! You were too busy worrying about if your eyeliner looked good and that you had enough HardRock hairspray on to make your black (oh yes, black) hair stick up through the whole gig...

Yes, you denied the very thing that makes us all human. You just didn't get laid enough.

On that note, I have to go. I will be back.

I bet Kylie didn't think her bum was too big at 16...but she may have had the opportunity to have babies with Nick Cave later in her life...