There was a good article in this week’s Sunday Times about the remarkable comeback of Take That. Bryan Appleyard wrote about how amazing it is that after ten years in the wilderness the boys are back, bigger and better than ever.
It’s all very well going on about their ten years in the wilderness, but what about mine? It’s been horrible having to listen to Robbie Williams for the past ten years.
I remember when I first saw Take That. I was at my mother’s house in Devon (and by the way she thinks she may have spotted Heathcliff in a local supermarket, but decided not to approach him) when the five boys appeared, half-naked and dancing.
My mother was amazed at how young they were. “I wouldn’t know whether to feed them or f*** them,” she said. I was less confused then but looking at an old picture of them in Bryan’s article I have to admit they looked about fourteen.
Anyway, the MINUTE I heard they had come out with a new album I ordered it. I have now copied it several times so we have copies for both cars and each of the children’s rooms. They are all addicted to it and sing along loudly. Bea’s favourite is Patience which she hums non-stop. My husband has tried to wean them off by playing them Bob Dylan whenever I’m not around but I’m thrilled to say it hasn’t worked.
I am still researching my book on anti-ageing and I have to say that a Take That album played loudly in a convertible car whilst driving along in the sunshine is as good a tonic as I’ve come across, on a par with Laughter Yoga on Laguna Beach.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007