"Yeah, I quite like James Blunt"

I feel compelled to write about something very close to my heart. I just read an article by David Mitchell in which he confesses to buying his second album ever. SECOND. EVER. This got me thinking, especially since I am currently listening to the delightful Simon Pegg do a guest slot on BBC 6 Music where he plays music he loves. And it's wonderful. Right now he's playing an old Elbow track and it makes me happy.

I don't understand people who aren't passionate about music. I am passionate about a lot of things, and I of course understand that the things that excite us are totally subjective - believe me, I've tried engaging people who couldn't give a shit about horses on the subject of preferred stirrup length, and it's clearly a waste of time. My other passions include photography, art and language, and I can understand that sloppy grammar just doesn't inspire the same rage in others that it does in me. I appreciate difference and I appreciate other people who just really love something and want to talk to me about it.

But how can you not be passionate about music? I can't get through the day without my iPod. Despite the fact that I have a definite idea of my own taste, and a real dislike of certain musicians and styles (yes James Blunt, I mean you. And Bass Hunter, Katie Melua, Celine Dion, oh look I've got started and a bit irate now); I do respect anyone who has a taste. I might not agree that you need to attend every Leona Lewis concert but if you love her, then fair play to you.

What I don't get, is people who just don't care about music. Music is such an elemental, powerful thing. I hear tunes and they remind me of my past; evoking people, heartbreak, happiness, journeys, moments.... How can you not have a soundtrack to your life? A little bit of me dies inside when people respond to the question of "what music are you into?" with a shrug and a mumble of "dunno, all sorts....". People who switch the radio on and don't even register what's playing. I genuinely believe their quality of life is diminished with this lack of appreciation.

Ever since I've had my own money, I've spent the vast majority of it on music. I don't really know where this comes from since the only music I ever recall my parents playing was Elaine Page and Dire Straits. Music afficionados; my parents aren't. Nowadays one of my favourite times is the journey to work, especially when the weather is good and the light is beautiful. Weaving my way through London on the bus with something stirring accompanying me is filmic and rousing and gives me time to think.

I don't think I could ever be with anyone who didn't really care about music. I feel the same way about them as I feel about people who don't think Anchorman is one of the funniest films ever. I don't trust them.

Commuter Sightseeing 2

Another day, another random work commute... London never ceases to amaze me. I now expect the unexpected most days.

This morning, Nor'n Ir'on and I left the house as usual, not quite awake, ready to stick the iPod in to lose myself in another journey.

But this morning brought a sobering sight; informed there'd been some sort of traffic-stopping incident, we plodded from the bus stop towards the City to rejoin the rat race in Shoreditch.

Then we saw it. Awkwardly splayed across the middle of the road, was a crushed car, with its roof chopped off and flung carelessly onto the pavement. Our street suddenly felt like a film set- police parked haphazardly across the traffic route, the midsection of the road and pavements cordoned off with incident tape, commuters hurrying down the road on foot.

We joined the throng of people walking frantically from the East End, I was lost in my thoughts as you are when you see a sad scene of destruction.

Strangely though, for a fleeting minute, there was a sense of community. People passing messages down to the next bus stop that there'd be no buses running this morning. Sharing a few words and a smile with the girl with the lipring, and the academic looking man sporting a fetching suit and well-tailored jacket.

After a stroll, we reached the bustle of Shoreditch with traffic humming and beeping as usual. Yet on the way to the next bus, we saw further odd sights.

A pile of vintage shoes arranged artfully on the pavement, for no apparent reason. A racing bike installation, sprayed matte white and chained to a City lamppost.

A sad but somehow comedic sight of a binman swigging Stella pre 8am. A plush velvet 4 seater sofa abandoned on the pavement.

Finally on the bus, we're met with the sight of a slightly scary big bald guy, dressed in punky S&M black, with chains and rings and matrix style sunglasses. Suddenly, interrupting my thoughts of 'God, this bus is like a sauna', he recognises the man stood next to me and unleashes a camp greeting with air kisses, and flirts all the way to Clerkenwell. Certainly wasn't expecting that.

So, off the bus and heading to get overpriced coffee to jumpstart our sluggish minds for the day ahead- then I see a woman wearing purple fluffy boot slippers. As you do.

Something of an eventful journey. And all before 8:15am.

I feel sorry for the subterranean tube goers, missing out on the sights of overground London. I'm going to start carrying my camera round all the time.


-- Post From My iPhone