In certain lights, I can almost pass for someone with cool musical taste.
I know my way around the back catalogues of Pearl Jam and Green Day, and I can name more than a dozen Bob Dylan tracks. I can even bluff for almost ten minutes about the Beatles, and Led Zeppelin.
See? I have musical props.
But there’s another side to me. A dark side. A shameful side that has an unabiding love of Taylor Swift and John Mayer. A side that knows every single word to Joey Scarbury’s Believe it or Not, and can still do the dance to the Spice Girls Wannabee, if plied with enough alcohol.
Of course, this is a side of me that must remain hidden, under all circumstances. It is allowed out only during working hours (sorry, Lindy) when I crank up the Sonos and Spotify, or on the school run, when I plug my phone into the car, and let the cheese flow.
But most of the time, my dodgy musical tastes are a closely guarded secret.
Or… they were.
Last week, I drove the 5 minutes to our local health centre, to collect a prescription. As is my habit, I took the phone with me, and was merrily singing along in the car.
It’s a short drive, and when I arrived I jumped out of the car and hurried inside, grabbing my stuff.
It was busy.
First I stood in line at the reception desk, behind a row of pensioners each with highly complex and time-consuming queries. I didn’t mind though. Our GP surgery plays background music while you wait, so I hummed along to myself. I got a few funny looks, but people never like to see too much happiness in a medical setting, so I didn’t take it personally.
Ten minutes later, I got to the front of the line, grabbed my prescription and headed over to the pharmacy.
Waiting for a pen. Waiting for the pharmacist to take the script. Waiting for it to be filled. Waiting. In the busy waiting area. Just waiting.
And all the while humming to myself, by now to John Mayer’s Your Body is a Wonderland, while thinking to myself, “Wow. You really don’t hear this song very much any more.”
It wasn’t until I clambered back into my car a few minutes later that I realised that my GP surgery does NOT actually play background music while you wait. Oh no, friends.
In fact, the sweet, sweet sound of Selena Gomez’ deeply moving musical oddysey “Come and Get It” was in fact coming from my iPhone, which had been playing, at pretty much full volume, in my pocket, for close to 15 minutes. Without my ever realising.
It is true.
My name is Sally and I bring the (shame) party with me.