Of Wrath and Love
Like all of us, I guess, I get earworms. Sometimes they’re songs or tunes which I’ve always thought were dreadful, and the instant they worm (intended pun) their annoying way into my head, I shudder and try to think or sing over them. Other times, I love the music and words, or at least they’re OK, but perhaps they’ve worn out their welcome after playing on loop. An aural invertebrate like that wriggled in yesterday. It wasn’t the music, but the words of one of the song’s verses which made me happy because they displaced troubling lyrics from a song from Friday. First, that Friday song. I was at an event organised to enthuse a Christian denomination’s ministers, active and retired, in the “Regions”, ie not the big smoke. We are thought to be more depressed and in need of self-care than our metropolitan sistren and brethren. It’s my experience in my particular region, that we’re a jolly sight happier and more cohesive than the poor folk in the smoke, but maybe that’s just me. We kick