Harriet's Voice

It's January 1990.

After the tenancy's run out at our cockroach-infected flat, the three of us have moved into a tidy, but unreliable, 1970's bay window VW Kombi and parked up in a beach-front car park at Cottesloe, Western Australia.

Two brothers and a sister sharing the back of an old camper isn't as rad as #vanlife might have you imagine.

With two weeks down and another two before Allison -  my sister, finishes her lucrative job at the lunch bar down the promenade, Den - my twin brother, and I reach the point of terminal boredom one afternoon and decide to partake in a mission to make life worth living again.

Nicking $20 from Alli's closely-guarded 'trip fund', we walk the four or five miles to the Peppermint Grove shopping mall in search of music and D-size batteries.

A couple of hours later, we return with some overpriced Duracells and three cassettes:
James Taylor - The Greatest Hits;
The Smiths - Louder Than Bombs;
The Sundays - Reading, Writing and Arithmetic.

A couple of weeks later, we leave the west coast of Australia behind, VW engine spluttering, radio cassette player blaring, and head east.

For the next three months, we listen to each of those albums hundreds of times. Whilst James Taylor's 'Fire and Rain' is still one of my favourite-ever songs, and whilst I still rate Morrissey and Johnny as the finest lyricist and guitarist of my generation, it's The Sundays' debut that undoubtedly makes the greatest impression. John Peel would proclaim after an early BBC session that their album would establish itself as one of the top ten records of the decade, and he'd be right.

For three months, we played that record to death. For three months, we sang along, laughed and larked about to those songs. For three months, we marvelled at the gloriousness of Harriet Wheeler's voice and, little by little, we fell in love with her. (Well, me and Den anyhow.)

The Sundays wouldn't play the industry game. After that first record, they'd make two more albums - Blind in 1992, and Static & Silence in 1997. They'd bag a top 15 single with 'Summertime' and then, announcing that they wished to settle down,  songwriters Harriet Wheeler, lead singer, and David Gavurin, lead guitarist, would get married, have kids, pack in the old pop-star game, and totally disappear from public view.

It's May 2017.

I'm driving to Grimsby Hospital for a pacemaker check. It's a hot day. The dashboard readout says 18.5 degrees and it's only half-eight.

My tee-shirt is sticking to my back.

These yearly hospital visits are a pain in the arse. There's a Bank Holiday looming and I've shit-loads to do at work.

Wound up. Totally fucking wound up. That's how I'd describe myself.

There's a traffic jam approaching the Toll Bar roundabout. Great. Get stuck here and I'll be late for my appointment.

Jesus Christ.

The news headlines on the radio. Manchester. A world gone mad.

And then the '90s Smasher!' comes on. 'Summertime' by The Sundays. It's ages since I've heard it. I mean, how often do you hear The Sundays on Radio 2?

Oh...

Harriet Wheeler's voice.

As if moved by an invisible uplifting force, before I know it I'm singing along to the chorus, my left hand tapping the steering wheel and my right resting along the bottom edge of the driver's-side door window, fingers marking the beat.

I glance in the rear-view mirror.

There's a silver Citroen behind me. The woman driving it is, perhaps, a touch younger than me. I watch for a while as she sings along to the same song, her left hand tapping the steering wheel and her right resting along the bottom edge of the driver's-side door window, fingers marking the beat.

Eventually, she clocks me clocking her in the mirror, throws her head back in laughter and gives me a little embarrassed wave.

I laugh too, turn my head to look towards her and give her a thumbs-up. We both laugh some more.

The traffic moves. There's a smile on my face. In this mood, even the next two songs on the radio - Peter Andre's 'Mysterious Girl' and Inner Circle's 'Girl I Want to Make You Sweat' - which are actually dire - sound amazing. I sing along to those too.




At times it seems like the only news is bad news.

That the world is full of bad things, evil actions, tragedy and sadness that is impossible to comprehend or contemplate.

But we must remember that this is only half of the story.

For the world is also full of magic. Good things. Little wonders.

Little wonders that seep light through cracks into the darkness beyond and transform stormy nights into new dawns.

Little wonders that are all around us, all the time, but are too easily ignored in the everyday rush from here to there to where?

Little wonders that can fill us with joy and the perfect promise of possibility.

Little wonders like a summer blue sky.

The sun shining.

The unguarded laughter of a complete stranger.

And, of course, Harriet's voice.