I spent 17 fantastic August days in the laid-back, country mile behind the rest of the world, part of the world, that is the West Coast.
Don McLean's American Pie. Reminds me of long drives up to Rancho Santa Fay, in a fancy lexus, being told all about america, from Red Necks to proper New Yorkers, of concrete roads, and the interstate 5, and endless miles of pacific ocean out in front of you.
Long evenings spent in open plan living rooms and smart drawing rooms with leather sofas, books and a grand piano and on balconies, looking out on the bay, or in front gardens under a 8ft hedge on a really uncomfortable bench, talking until 3am about everything from sex to architecture and everything in between.
My little god bro's favourite song. I don't care that I don't actually like it, I hear it, and I'm back in San Diego, pissing around on a beach again.
Many people complain that this song is overplayed, but listen to it walking around San Diego in 28 degrees, with a few people who are really very very special to you, having had too much sugar and too much sleep. This song was, nay, is MY San Diego song. Whenever I hear it I can smell the house, remember how the bed sheets felt, hear it all the children playing on the streets, remember the beeches, a shocking attempt at sailing, fish and gazelles the size of small dogs and reptiles. Old town San Diego, with that "rustic charm" and long walks and a mormon church and the tackyness of it all. Balboa park and the cactusses and "the globe" and all the food. Just listening to this song, for what is actually the first time since I went to San Diego zoo brings back an AWFUL lot of memories, stuff I had forgotten. It all comes back listening to this song.
thank you and goodnight.
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