My favourite book of the moment is David Bowie: Any Day Now (The London Years 1947 - 1974). It is a chronological list of anecdotes, dates and quotes about the life of David Bowie, up until he left the UK for good in 1974. I found it in Barney's groovy book department a few weeks ago and finally returned to buy it last Thursday. Ever since, I am finding it to be almost almanac-like in it's wisdom! Any random page I turn to has a message for me, answering my problem of the day. It is working in a similar way to my I-poddess, in this respect. What should I wear today? There's David in a kaftan top and flares. How shall I tell someone who's annoyed me that I hate them? There's David dressed as a mime artist, lips pursed shut and glued into silence, inspiring me to keep my big-mouthed thoughts to myself.
At the weekend, after half an hour berating my son for hanging out in his room all weekend, I picked up the book. My eyes went straight to an explanation of how David, at the same age, spent long hours listening to music alone in his bedroom too. He clashed so much with his Mum that he ended up being sent to stay with an Aunt in Ealing. We don't have that luxury. However, I am going to turn to my David-in-his-teens chapters whenever my own infants are vexing me to the point of tears. I might even start leaving a few pairs of spandex leggings around and the odd bit of spare eye-liner. It can't do any harm.
By the way, I once saw Mick Ronson. Not in concert in fact, but through the serving hatch of a kitchen in a council house on the outskirts of Hull (where he was from). He was enjoying a cup of tea and wearing a pair of carpet slippers. That, my friends, is why I love Rock 'n' Rollers. Legendary Gods of the Universe one minute, cheery tea-drinkers the next.
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