What is it about music, that sends me cuckoo. There were some young crusty/hippy types controlling the juke box in the pub last night. I say young; they might have been my age.
I kept yelling at Kevin the Barman to turn up the jukebox because conversation was slightly too loud.
Still, the music included Good Vibrations, Twentieth Century Boy, People are Strange, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, I am the Walrus, She Sells Sanctuary, and Bat Out Of Hell (as loved by all crusty/hippy types...).
I think I worried all the old male bar propper-ups by dancing to She Sells Sanctuary and yelling that I was the only Goth in bright clothes, when I were a lass.
When we got home, I put on the White Album. We lay on the sofa, and eventually - after the entirety of Disc One (I have it on tape) - concluded that it is utter shite.
