My mum was scatty, a dreadful cook and couldn’t keep a home organised for more than five minutes, but, by God, she knew her music. She loved music. We used to spend hours playing sevens up table (on the kitchen table) and listening to superb sounds on the crappiest, tinniest,
stereo in the world. She taught me about music more than any person alive. My head is one big ampitheatre and at its core, on the circular stage in the centre, my mum’s stereo plays the classics.
Of course, nowadays, I’ll listen to any good music in any genre, but there’s something about nostalgia like that – in fact, no; there’s nothing like nostalgia when it comes to music…