My taste in music is all over the place. Frank Sinatra. Bluegrass. The Beatles. Elvis. Everything But The Girl. James Taylor. UB40. Johnny Cash. Motown. Bob Dylan. I can even admit to liking three or four Andy Williams songs. And now Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground.
I never liked Lou Reed when I was growing up. Too seedy, too druggy, too thin. But now I'm past the age of being worried about adverse influences, his music is one of the soundtracks to my car journeys. I love the the way he pronounces 'femme' in 'Femme Fatale', the way he can barely articulate the separate words in 'Pale Blue Eyes', the way he threads his way delicately through 'Stephanie Says', the way he makes drinking 'sangria in the park' seem like the best way to achieve a Perfect Day, and the way he makes 'Sunday Morning' the obvious accompaniment to a lie-in with newspapers, or a drive to Columbia Road flower market.
The market was sunny and friendly, with plenty of sellers out-shouting each other with promises of the cheapest spring flowers ever, anywhere. We went for tulips (very cheap, very good, some fantastic, cheerful mixed bunches of 50 tulips for £10) and breakfast at the Albion Caff (sufficient newspapers to keep me happy), and came back with photos and enough flowers to fill four vases. And Lou keeping us spaced out in the car.
[all photos taken this morning]
