Paul McCartney’s fixing my hole
Dad came around today while Michael was cutting a hole in the wall, and began to sing (my dad has a song for every occasion, he’s a proper dad like that).
I must have been four, because we moved just as I started school. Dad had St Pepper’s playing on vinyl in his poky study and we were dancing. He used to shoot video of everything we did, and that’s how I always remember him – through the viewfinder of his massive camera. You had to put full size VHS in that thing.
But that’s not the part I remember best. The part I remember best is how tiny my little brother’s legs were. He had on my blue ballet skirt and no underpants, and he stomped his two year old self around that cramped room like a man possessed. Under a mop of platinum blonde hair, his face was radiant. My mum was leaning against the doorjam with her huge baby belly rocking back and forth as she shook with laughter.
The memory is short – it only lasts the duration of the song – but it’s one of those that sometimes sits in the present and makes it a little nicer.