If you are of a certain age (old) and in the UK, there is the classic line: "They think it's all over; it is now!" It refers to the football world cup final of 1966, which the more jingoistic members of the community of football fans and union flag wavers treat, along with "the" war, as one of the twin pillars of an Englishness I have never subscribed to. Probably because I consider myself scots, but, anyway, these were the classic last lines uttered by the hoarse, excitable TV commentator, Kenneth Wostenholme, as Geoff Hurst scraped in a last gasp fourth goal, right on the blast of the referees final whistle. No football fan me, but I do remember watching the game, aged 9, as it was probably watched by near every adult and child in the country, assuming, that is, they had a telly. There wouldn't have been anything else on anyway. But it is a lovely line, bearing repeating whenever something seems to be at and and then, suddenly, perhaps with an additional slight surprise, now is.
Which set me thinking about all this break-up songs out there, and the differing responses to the news that may transpire. With good old i-tunes coming up trumps on that score.
Fool:
I had forgotten how impossibly young Chris Rea actually ever was. I remember thinking this song great, when it came out, back in 1978. From his debut album, which garnered him a grammy, Best New Artist, if actually little then much to further his career. Indeed, so prophetic was it, Rea was thinking of turning his back on music thereafter, returning to running the family restaurant his parents wanted of him. Luckily, it wasn't, and he would have been a fool had he thought so. It was only after he drove home, that Christmas, that he found a substantive royalty check on his doormat, sufficient to reverse his fortunes and set up a sensible pension plan. (Actually not; he bought a Ferrari, but, should you wonder, yes, it was that Christmas!)
Fuck:
I still wonder whether I am allowed to spell that word out, so much a product of my times and upbringing I am. Sure, I say it a lot, and enjoy doing so. But, having got that out of the way, I believe it a totally valid use of the word in this context, the combination of dismay, contempt and dawning realisation, and I praise the sometimes somewhat histrionic Glasgow band for its use. I may be wrong, but they sound dumpee rather than dumper. Fuck is a common word in Scotland's second city, finding application as a noun, a verb, an adjective and probably many others, adverb, pronoun, preposition or conjunction. Heck, even a good old interjection too, from time to time. Glasvegas seemed only to have a brief window of opportunity, always seeming to promise more than delivered, but were fun. (Stop press: they tour their new, 4th album next year!)
Glad:
