When I fell, I fell hard. Call me Lucifer; everyone else did. I strutted into that bar, all attitude, all skinny jeans, smokes and sexuality. Love was the drug and I needed to score. That’s when I fell. There’s that moment in Jaws when the shark eats the kid, and there’s a dolly zoom on Brody’s face. It felt like that, albeit without the shark and the blood, though to be fair I wouldn’t have noticed.
Usually loquacious, especially after a drink or three, I suddenly had no words. I muttered, stammered and apologised. We ended up talking about vodka, a somewhat limited topic and not exactly leading to where I wanted to be led, and yes, for the first time I wanted to be led.
As the heavenly chorus sang and the stars shone down in celestial approval, as my life perceptibly changed, as I fell hard, the soundtrack echoing around the bar told of a love story which was far more cynical. A band I’d followed from their “trendy hippy” (copyright Lydon) Sheffield roots told a tale of a power struggle, the “you needed me” – “no you needed me” argument. Apparently she was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when they met. I didn’t care. I didn’t care that she’d met success and then dumped him. But that damnable yet perfect pop song followed us around, through the Christmas of that year, and sent us on our way.
I fell in love twice in the 80s, and never again.