Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

98. Headache by Grouper

RUNNING THROUGH the farmhouses on Red Hill with my mates older brother, giving chase was exhilarating and once off the path and running across open field, I could easily picture my dead body, left, concealed beneath the long, reedy blades of grass. 

By the time I was eventually caught, all he could muster were a few limp footed kicks at my scrunched up body. I thought there and then that living in my imagination was more fun than anything reality could offer.

Just as well because by the time the orthodontist, Mister Bogues, had finished accessing me, I was sitting patiently with my red greyhound style brace clamp wrapped around my face every evening waiting for my teeth to be straightened. Unable to enter my mid-adolescence, I was instead surrounded by records that I would play on my imaginary radio show every Sunday night. 

By the time he showed me his success with the before and after moulds, my hooter had sprouted both across and out of my face. A face now riddled with at least four red boils at anyone time. No wonder I continued with my imaginary radio show and, in essence, still do. 

'So', asks nobody at all, 'what is the best record you've bought this week?' This haunting beauty, I reply. A record I should've bought in 2016 but didn't. Thankfully repressed in time for the duvet months. Enjoy.