BEATS OF LOVE 

94. Honey Sanba by Katsuyuki ItakuraTrio

AS AN ex smoker I'm constantly plagued by smoking dreams where I'm puffing away in a state of contentment, only to wake up in a guilty cold sweat. Before thankfully realizing that was another life. 

A life of unfathomably long bus commutes to get me to work and back. It's little wonder I subconsciously recall the often torn brown and orange stitching on the upstairs seats where I puffed away far more than the nightlife that first drew me into the metropolis. 

For four years, my kid sister encouraged me to try a new life there, but the fear of being too skint to buy records stopped me. I finally went to live in my mate's back bedroom. My job was somehow intact and now much nearer to home. 

When I was being made redundant (22 years after I'd hoped), it seemed like all that record buying would permit me the chance to own a little vinyl cafe. When the redundancy finally happened covid was happening and then when it wasn't the cost-of-living crisis happened. I figured only a completely brave bastard would pursue such a risky endeavour. Not me then. 

A life of unfathomably tough 3am starts keeps me in my current job, but I still count all my many blessings. Like buying brilliant records like this. 

BEATS OF LOVE 

93. Hold Me Now (Extended) by Thompson Twins

AFTER MY father died, I was given his gold wedding ring, which I duly wore until 2010, when the finger it was on swelled up and it had to be cut off. The ring, not the finger. 

I then gave it to my ex to look after to buy time before refashioning it to my wedding ring. I would like to say I ended the relationship when I found out she pawned it, but the relationship only ended after a heart to heart with mum's partner. It's poignant that the two men in my life were instrumental in me reaching that decision, which helped me turn that difficult page. 

I'm not a multi-tasker, so had I been knee deep in that life SFH wouldn't exist. That it has survived ten years where the only low was being unremittingly abused online one Saturday morning is down to the missus. Pure and simple. She knows my limitations and lets me meander, but she also knows I've promised to start selling some records again. It all got a bit complicated after we left the EU and that gave me an excuse not to. We're even looking at a sporadic dancefloor based night once that's up and running.  

I sometimes look at my life as the third person, so have to really remind myself that I've done all these things before. Way back when my hair was darker and my mum and kid sister supported me through my anxieties. That support has never abated despite my hair turning white and my mother dying. Add to that the missus' unflinching faith in me still and I should be fucking invincible.  

Viva the women in my life for this fresh new chapter. And let loving start.