Ladies, were you ever the plodding satellite orbiting around that shining, intelligent, radiant planet of beauty and perfection, that goddess in the classroom at school?
You know the one I mean.
In the late 1960's and early 70's it went like this.
She was the one with the perfect blemish-free skin and the lustrous mane of thick, very straight blond hair never prone to frizz and split ends.Just like Mary Hopkin.
Goddess managed to look a million dollars in the regulation uniform. Her velour hat would perch jauntily, her A line skirt hang perfectly, while the rest of us just achieved the required effect of teenage frumpdom. Goddess was universally popular,the queue of boyfriends then cast aside for the rest of us to comfort in their broken hearted misery and a social life to die for. Ronnie Scott's while we hung out at the Church Youth Club. Top marks in every subject, took the lead role in the school play (why choose anyone else?), could run faster and throw further on the sport's field, swim faster in the pool. As if this wasn't enough of an endowment she could play difficult barre chords and finger pick a lick or twenty on her guitar and sing in tune sweetly at the same time, actually looking and sounding like Mary Hopkin, whilst the rest of us just strummed C-Em-G and hummed, sounding more like a hive of worried bees.
But hold on a minute...perhaps you were that goddess?
In that case read Amelie Nothomb's Antichrista and find out how the rest of us felt.
Nothomb does it again I'm afraid, she has this unerring gaze for the lesser spotted event that is of great magnitude in the eyes of the suffering beholder and when you read this piece about her in last Friday's Independent much is explained.
Those were the days my friend
We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance for ever and a day
We'd live the life we choose
We'd fight and never lose
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days