That's when I knew you.
I have a music player in my head. I must admit that it does not work very well.
It is pretty frustrating to loop a tune not yet familiarised, a song not played in its entirety; yet it is one that you can immediately identify. It leaps out at you at the most inappropriate times – suddenly striking like at a moment of opportunity and quickly disappearing the next.
Then you rack through your brains to try to play the first few bars, transfer the tune to the accompanying tapping of your fingers and begin attempt #2136 to commit it to mind, before it makes another silent exit.
So I find myself desperately wanting to go home and listen to the real thing.
I close my eyes, drown in its simplicity, tap my fingers, think blue skies, smile, embrace the complete digital audio experience. With headphones. No sing-alongs, just happy thoughts.
Do I now like them because they are who they are, or because they do what they do best?
But I suspect, ultimately, it might just be Mr Tweedy’s voice that sealed the deal.
This is album number five to earn a spot in my heart this year – and it goes straight to number one, sitting comfortably at the top of the list. (Mr Healy’s did not quite make it.)