When the Music Plays

Who is Kurt Harris you might ask? I've spent many a happy hour flitting around YouTube watching and listening to some great music from many genres. I recently came across a track called "Emperor of my Baby's Heart" and its has rapidly become a real favourite, even making it to the heady heights of my mobile ring tone. This is one of the few pictures I've been able to find of the man, the cover of another record he recorded under the stage name of Kurtis Scott.

aka Kurt Harris

Emperor of my Baby's Heart is 2'46" of classic Northern Soul. Released in 1964 on the Diamond record label, an original copy could easily set you back £50. Follow the link below to judge for yourself how good this track is....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_Lrog3dSXU

Influenzotestostero

Sods Law reared its ugly head over the weekend just past. A tickle in the throat on the evening of my last day at work on Thursday turned into a full blown bout of Manflu by Saturday morning. Why couldn't the tickle and ensuing affliction have happened on my first day at work, forcing me to have consideration for my colleagues by removing myself from the workplace for a few days?

Its not looking good.

After doing the macho thing and refusing to be subdued by a few germs I took myself off to see the mighty Brentford FC play Crawley in their Meccano based stadium. I'd dosed myself up with the maximum recommended amount of Paracetamol and Ibuprofen; cough sweets, tissues and a small hip flask filled with medicinal rum. 

After lunch and an ale at a nearby hostelry we headed off to the ground and watched Newcastle mug Chelsea on the TV in the club bar. Crawley vs Brentford was a poor game with little to get excited about. The Bees scored a stonewall penalty in the 5th minute and thats how the score stayed. Huffing and puffing in midfield by both teams and the occasional sortie forward presented a poor advert for League One football. The win was good though, being Brentfords fourth in a row.

Penalty king Adam Forshaw

The journey home was quick and uneventful until I arrived back in Andover. The manflu had clearly had enough of being subdued with drugs and alcohol and took its revenge. A shivering fit and a bout of hacking cough followed by a pounding headache took hold. I dragged myself to the settee with a duvet and crashed out to be woken thirty minutes later by Shaz coming home from work.

Think I was hallucinating

I was packed off to bed pretty quickly and had one of those restless nights with virus dreams and much tossing and turning, hot one minute and cold the next. Sunday turned into a dressing gown and sofa day. Shaz kept the drinks coming and I looked after the TV remote control, watching three movies back to back, V for Vendetta, Once Upon a Time in America and The Dark Knight. 

Got any tripe flavoured popcorn?

Monday dawned and unsurprisingly the symptoms had waned making a couple of days off work a guilt ridden prospect instead of a self excusing skive. Sods law?