happy

I listened to Sheryl Crow at the weekend, live from Glastonbury. I realised that Sheryl Crow's second album must have been one of the last albums I played in the order intended, before all of the trixyness of playlists kicked in.

I'd changed jobs and ordered a new company car, which was going to take a while to arrive. So I'd hung on to my blue car with its trusty cassette player and that's where Sheryl lived. My daily commute in those early days was about one side of a C90 and so Sheryl would often accompany my trips to the office.

I'd hitch a ride with a vending machine repairman, take the I 95 down to Pensacola, put on a poncho and play for mosquitos, and beat around the streets like Bandini looking for Camilla.

That was 1998, and I've clocked a few miles since those days. Sheryl said she'd written the second album to get under peoples' skin. Yes, and it makes me happy.