Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….




Some days I have so much to say, but no way of getting it out.

Because I’m too low. Or too pissed off. Or too wary of boring you all to death with the same old shit.

But one thing I can pretty much always talk about all day long is music, especially songs that means something to me.

So when I saw Twindaddy’s 25 days 25 song challenge, I thought, I wanna play!

Except he’s just finished it. Always super quick off the mark, me….

Nevertheless, I’m going to do it anyway and if anyone would like to come along for the ride, I’d appreciate your company. 🙂

So, first cab off the rank, a song that reminds me of my childhood…

Marc Bolan & T Rex File Photos

Like most young, pre pubescent kids, I started having crushes on boys from about the age of 8, and by far the least embarrassing object of my affections was Marc Bolan from T Rex.  Probably because he was pretty androgynous and unthreatening with his make up, glitter and stars and whatnot stuck around his eyes, but anyway I had his posters in my bedroom, I cooed at him longingly when he was on Top of the Pops, and ‘Hot Love’ was the first single I ever bought, and I played it again, again, and again.

The next day I was dragged off to the optician and was fitted with a pair of glasses.

Before that, whilst I wasn’t necessarily one of the cool kids, I wasn’t an outsider, and just about got away with being a ginger with goofy teeth, but my geeky cheapo National Health bins soon put paid to that.


Suffice to say, I absolutely hated them.  Before I got them I saw the world through a gentle, blurry haze, and everything being brought into sharp focus for the first time, probably ever, was a rude awakening. Everybody and everything looked ugly, spotted, scarred and flawed, especially me.

Apprehensive about the kind of reception I’d get from my friends, I refused to wear them on the way home in case I was spotted, but showed them to my favourite aunt when she begged me to later that evening, promising faithfully not to laugh.

We went up to my room and taking a deep breath, I sat on my bed next to her, took the blue rimmed monstrosities from their case and wedged them painfully onto my face. They pinched and her face immediately seemed nearer, as she squinted at me, thick blue eye shadow creasing, her expression unmistakably one of suppressed mirth.  I saw to my dismay, the corners of her mouth twitch.  Then no doubt trying to distract herself, she spotted the sparkly one gazing down at us from the wall.

Oooo, you like him do you?’ she cried teasingly, ‘well he won’t like you with those on!  He was on telly the other day and he said “Boys don’t make passes at girls that wear glasses; because they’re always in classes”, and she shrieked with laughter.

Well done Auntie Ethel, thanks for the support.  One for the feminists – not.  Germaine Greer would have been so proud, you tactless, evil, blubbery old brass.

Even as a kid you know that if grown up mocks you, you get to school and you’re gonna be toast, and I begged my mother not to make me wear them.

Of course she made me wear them.

Of course I got shit at school.

And here heralded the start of  the ‘ugly years’, isolation, bullying, eating disorders, self harm and my 40 plus year hatred of the way that I looked.

But I’ll always remember the way I felt the day before, when I carefully lowered my brand new single onto the record player, lay on my bed and stared moonily at my beloved Marc, and could still believe that we might ride a white swan off into the sunset together.



  1. I’d join ya … but there are too many categories I can’t participate in. My childhood, though, included American singers like Vaughn Monroe and Frankie Laine ! [grin] See ? – you have to google them !

  2. Tom Jones – It’s not unusual. I’d writhe on the living room floor like a bewitched daughter of the Beelzebubbe at the sound of his voice. I believe I was about 11.

  3. I loved your post and felt 😥 for you feeling so yuk! My childhood was so protected I didn’t know what a pop song was until I was eleven! My parents didn’t allow us to listen to local radio…. but there were songs of course I loved. I made up for it later….

  4. My Auntie Ethel had whiskers, and a poker up her arse. Upside was she didn’t laugh at me – or anything else.
    No pop songs in my childhood, either, but I can’t say I felt deprived. Ever the misfit…

  5. Oh man, what a terrific post! Looking forward to future musical installments. Like others who have commented, pop music was not “allowed” – more of a financial issue rather than any philosophical policy. We used to listen to my parents tunes on old 45 rpm records. Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini was a frequent flyer…

  6. Dearest Madame, your syntactic portraiture remains absolutely flawless.

    Though late to the hootenany—and not one of the ladies by even the loosest of definitions—one can only hope to not be deemed the most grievous of interlopers by jumping in.

    During summer 1976, my three-years-elder sister and I couldn’t get enough of dancing about, “mouthing the lyrics” (this was before the advent of the terms “air band” and “lip-syncing”) to this ditty. Fortunately, we were still at the ages of listening to Top 40 radio, so, there was certainly no shortage of our communing with Ms. Dee and Sir Elton.

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