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  • When I was fourteen, just like any other teenager; I would spend many hours holed up in my bedroom listening to music, pasting posters of my favourite pop groups on the wall, daydreaming about meeting the Beatles; hoping that by some miracle I would have enough money to dance on the television program Ready Steady Go; wondering when I would fall in love; wishing I didn’t have spots; crying when I was not noticed by a boy who I had a crush on. I would play the first LP that I had ever owned, “With the Beatles’, over and over again.

    My soliloquy was always interrupted by my mother voice jarring in my ears,

    “Diane, stop sulking in your bedroom. Come downstairs.”

    My mother screamed because did not want to make the effort of climbing up the stairs and knocking on my door. She screamed for me to wake up in the morning. She screamed for me to peel the potatoes. She screamed about everything.

    I resolved that if I ever had children I would speak to them quietly and not shatter their peace by yelling all day. I would have some consideration for their privacy.

    Inexplicably whenever I play ‘With the Beatles’ now; even if I am concentrating on a task with the music on the edge of my consciousness I hear my mother’s voice in exactly the same song, ’It Won’t Be Long’; every time.

    “Diane, come downstairs!”

    It is as if her voice was permanently recorded in the grooves of the LP like a chilling subliminal message.

    Photo of my magazine advertising the programme 'Ready Steady Go' saved from the sixties'.
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