I grew up in the south of England, and moved away when I was 24.
When I moved away, everything changed from that moment. I don't
belong there anymore. I rarely see anyone I know when I visit
and I don't really recognise the place. It probably hasn't
changed much, but I am now viewing as an outsider. Stranger was
written about just that - being a stranger where I once fitted in.
In the words of Martin Blank; "You can never go home again"
The spark for this song came a few years ago when I was in the
supermarket and overheard an old couple moaning at the lack of
choice of loo roll. There must have been 50 different types in
all colours, fragrances and softness. I found it strange that
this couple would have lived through rationing, if not the war,
and would surely be grateful to having anything to wipe their
bums with? Or maybe they have earned the right to choose?
"A thousand blank expressions spoilt for choice"
|Copyright Mark Ayling 2018