Today I did an hour’s work, then fought Bernard into his clothes, then took him swimming, then walked up into town where we got pasties for our lunch, and ate them as we walked on to the Children’s Centre. We stopped for ten minutes at the playground, because we were running a bit early, and then we went in and set up our breastfeeding drop-in.

Two hours later we walked back into town to go to the bank, then walked home at toddler speed, as the alternative was for him to fall asleep in the pushchair, and it was far too late in the day for that. One circuit of the church, a train, five garage doors and many, many doorsteps later, we reached home. Five minutes outside with the plastic ride-on Ferrari was stretched for as long as possible, and I finally managed to drag him into the house.

Next up: make tea for Bernard, return a telephone message, unpack the new veg box (trialling Riverford, as Abel & Cole just added a delivery charge on top of their recent price increase), feed the cat, hang up the laundry, wash up last night’s plates and this morning’s breakfast, and keep a lid on the simmering toddler until Pete gets home.

And… a glass of wine.

This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Pete’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time.

I bravely listened to the Pogues for a whole working day. I had to delete the first couple of tracks from the playlist because they were so bloody awful. That left several tracks that were still quite awful, and Fairytale of New York. I can only assume that Kirsty McColl makes this song acceptable. Or perhaps it just seems good because it is normally heard in the context of Slade and that whiny bloke who wants to go home for Christmas.

No, I’m sorry, I can’t get on with the Pogues at all. I really don’t have anything nice to say.

Next week’s playlist is all about disco. Pete smirked when he emailed to tell me.

We are at the checkout in Morrisons. Bernard has been well-behaved, as usual; he likes shopping trips because he can sit in the trolley and boss me about. Like some OLIVES, mama! Luckily he can’t reach the shelves, as long as I’m careful.

Usually he makes eyes at the cashier. Today he is distracted by a little girl, about his age, parked beside us in a stroller while her parents unload economy white bread on to the belt. She has big gold hoop earrings, bare feet (it is 10 degrees here), and is dressed from head to knee in filthy, filthy pink clothing. Such a very dirty little girl, with an enormous smile.

Bernard and pink gypsy child play that game of catching each other’s eye, giggling, and looking away. He is blushing bright red. He is quite clearly in love.

I pay for the shopping and leave. He will never see her again. Not if I have anything to do with it.

This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Pete’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time.

The Nina Simone week has been quite pleasant; I have enjoyed her in the background, and really listened to it when travelling to work. Strangely, the playlist in the book is barely annotated, while I find I have more to say than usual.

Feeling Good The lyrics talk of exhilaration and liberation, but I don’t get that from the majestic sound of the horns, which by the way I can’t help loving. However I do agree with one definition of Feeling Good: sleep in peace when day is done, that’s what I mean. If you set Maya Angelou to music, this might be what she sounded like, so perhaps this should be Rise’s anthem.

My baby just cares for me has a fab piano part that I would love to be able to play, but I find this song a little irritating, probably due to over-exposure in 1987. It reminds me of my first kiss, which I prefer to forget.

Mississippi Goddam starts off as some jolly, silly little tune, and turns into a bitter denunciation of this whole country full of lies. It sticks in the head.

I put a spell on you is the standard I love you, you hurt me, blah blah blah, heavy on the sax.

Strange Fruit is not in fact about Life of Pi, but a bitter, graphically horrible song about slavery and repression, with lyrics that juxtapose twisted bodies and the smell of flowers. In the middle is a horrible jarring, dropping note that, when you listen properly, has a rightful place in a song about death by hanging. Apparently this song made Nina cry, so she couldn’t sing it.

I want a little sugar in my bowl – a sticky sweet ode to being horny.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free annoys me with its facile rhyming, which undermines the strength of her message.

To be young, gifted and black doesn’t do much for me as a song, but I appreciate the importance of it as a civil rights anthem at the time it was written and performed.

Save Me – I really like the sound of that bass. The rest of the song is very jangly and busy.

Four Women For some reason this didn’t make it on to my iPod, so I didn’t get a chance to concentrate on it. I have tried but it stubbornly resists making an impression on me. I feel that it should, but it won’t.

Next week we are cursed with The Pogues. Pete did ask if I wanted a recount, and I said that wouldn’t be in the spirit of things, but perhaps I was wrong…

This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Pete’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time.

This week we were subjected to music produced by Rick Rubin, who is described in the book as having reinvented rap, rock and country. Once I had reinvented the playlist by deleting the first three tracks (LL Cool J and The Beastie Boys, good riddance), we all got along a lot better. The remaining tracks made the following impressions on me:

Walk This Way by Run DMC and Aerosmith, credited as usual only to Run DMC, and described as breathing life into Aerosmith’s moribund stadium rock. Well thank you very much but I’d rather listen to the moribund stadium rock anytime, so for me, it was Aerosmith that breathed the life into what would otherwise have been any old tedious rap song. This song was part of the soundtrack of my o-level revision year, when I used to work sitting on the floor of the awful dining room in the house where Dad, Nick and I lived before the entrance of the Stepmonster. It was always freezing cold there, but we had a good hifi (for its time), and I was in a confused musical period where the Sunday Top 40 was as important as the Friday Rock Show. That’s what this song means to me.

Cross Your Heart by The Red Devils should also have been deleted. My feelings about the standard blues song have been documented elsewhere. This one features a heroically irritating effort on the harmonica.

Under The Bridge by The Red Hot Chilli Peppers. I often find that a song that starts with a soft catching melody launches into awful, just as I am really getting into it. When this song launches, it doesn’t leave behind the promise it made at the start, and I really do like it a lot.

The Beast In Me by Johnny Cash is lyricful with reflection and sadness; a prelude to Hurt.

By The Way by RHCP again, is not as successful, for me, as Under The Bridge. There just seems to be so much going on in this song. But it’s not awful.

Hurt by Johnny Cash is a song that really moves me. NIN have a way with unexpectedly gut-wrenching ballads, and JC has a way with unexpected covers, that make this music work perfectly for me. This is the winner of the week, an absolutely awesome song. I checked out the video on YouTube and such a powerful piece really gave me shivers. Cash’s decision to sing this must have been filled with bitter meaning, sadness and regret It is a fitting but terribly sad farewell.

Oh Mary by Neil Diamond – Initially I found this dreary, but Pete persuaded me to give it another chance, and while it doesn’t work for me as background music while I’m working (it goes completely unnoticed); it is better as in-ear travelling music. It’s a love song. It’s sweet. But it has moments of slightly annoying over-earnestness.

For the next week, we are being lulled by Nina Simone.