Cocktails and Records

I’ve been tagged for this meme by I Should Be Working (who I’m secretly pleased isn’t working as she wouldn’t have time to write such a top blog otherwise). Anyway, the drill is to select a song which always makes me smile and to then tag others with the same request, adding a comment about their blogs which should be smile-inducing.

I’ve spent the weekend pondering over which song to choose because well, quite frankly every song I bung on this blog makes me happy – so what makes this selection different from any other?

To make this ’special’, I’ve decided to be (kind of) radical. I’m throwing away cool and embracing honesty. This tune has probably never been written about in the pages of the NME, The Word or The Wire. My DJ heroes like Giles Peterson, Norman Jay and Stuart Maconie would probably prefer to die than play it. And if you actually listen to the words, you will soon discover that they are so naff that Morrissey’s larynx would probably choose petrol gargling and sword swallowing over singing them.

No right minded music snob should like this song. Come to think of it, no right minded feminist should like a song from a musical whose key message is that domestic abuse is fine and dandy if you love someone.

But hey, we all have failings and this is mine. Rogers and Hammerstein make me happy, and this song says happiness best. Even in November.

‘June is Bustin’ Out All Over’, from Carousel, 1945

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Now to spread the joy, I’d like to tag Mr Hoops Hooley over at Horse Overboard.  Although we share a common love of Teenage Fanclub, classic pop and tuneful softrock, his ever-enthusiastic musings about his recent musical discoveries always remind me that there is more out there. He is also one of the few people in the world who actually makes me think that I really should get out more and see some live music.

Thanks to ishouldbeworking, I have been tagged for a meme that requires me to open the book I’m reading (I think) at page 123, skip the first five sentences, and then share the next three.

This is nice. It assumes that I:

1. Read books
2. Read books with more than 123 pages in them.

Sadly this is rarely the case and I’ve yet to read my first proper book this year. So instead, I offer page 23 of the most recent book I have actually read which is… [embarrassed, but still faintly nostalgic cough]… Flat Stanley and my grateful thanks to Valentine Suicide for reminding me of its existence in this post.

Actually, it’ll have to be page 22 because there is a picture of Stanley getting out of an envelope on page 23.

The next day Mr and Mrs Lambchop slid Stanley into his envelope, along with the egg-salad sandwich and the cigarette case full of milk, and mailed him from the box on the corner. The envelope had to be folded to fit through the slot, but Stanley was a limber boy and inside the box he straightened up again. Mrs Lambchop was nervous because Stanley had never been away from home alone before.

For once in my life I’m going to embrace the spirit of these things, and pass this on to my two favourite serial commenters Planet Mondo and Ill Man (in the hope that they come up with some seriously obscure music facts or works of literary genius) and also my old friend Alison because I think she might like this one.