Friday Ten - Ten Songs or Albums That Remind Me Of Different Places and Times

Whenever I hear one of these records, I am automatically transported back in time.

1) Nessun Dorma - Luciano Pavarotti: Any time I hear the last minute or so of Nessum Dorma, I'm 10 years old and spending the summer holidays with my Granny and Grampa in Brechin. The World Cup is on the BBC every day, and the green pitches seem especially bright under the Italian floodlights. Every match is preceded and followed by the tournament's adopted theme tune, bellowed by Pavarotti. This piece of music is a whole mish-mash of different memories - watching the matches in my Granny and Grampa's house, recreating Salvatori Schillachi's bug-eyed goal celebrations and Packie Bonner's penalty saves in Brechin Public Park, and generally playing more football in a day than my legs could now manage in a month.

2) This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours - Manic Street Preachers: This was the last album I bought before moving to Edinburgh for university at 18. In the flurry of leaving drinks, packing, work and general excitement in the week leading up to the move, I barely listened to the album. But once I'd unpacked in my new home in Craiglockhart Halls of Residence and set my stereo up, this album remained in the CD player for a while afterwards. All of the tracks are now forever associated with that first week away from home and the exciting new world it presented.

3) Who Killed The Zutons? - The Zutons: One of the first albums I bought after returning from a year traveling around the world, this coincided with me buying a car and an in-car CD player and getting a job with the Oban Times. As I scooted around the town from Mrs Wife's folks' house to the office, the Liverpudlians' first album became the soundtrack to that first week as a full-time journalist.

4) A Grand Don't Come For Free - The Streets: A few months into our round the world jaunt in 2003-2004, Mrs Wife and I were skint and living hand-to-mouth in Perth, Western Australia. One of my friends took pity and sent across a pile of albums to help pass the time. Later, when we were based in Melbourne, he did the same again, just before we started traveling down Australia's east coast by bus. One of the CDs was The Streets' second album, and I would often listen to it on overnight bus journies, this curious English concept album soundtracking sleepless nights staring out into the pitch-black bush.

5) Love Is Noise - The Verve: The Verve's fourth album was released the day I set off for Norway for the first time with work. I'd decided before leaving that Love Is Noise would be my anthem for the three-day jaunt, and I listened to the track any time I had a spare five minutes. I also drove my colleagues to distraction by singing it at all other times, including making an odd hooting noise to recreate the instruments. Any time I hear it now, I'm back in Stavanger in the summer sunshine.

6) Be Here Now - Oasis: Oasis opened the concerts on their Be Here Now tour of 1997 with the song of the same name, and any time I hear it I can remember the excitement of being in the front row, my arms squeezed against the barrier to stop my ribs snapping, as the band burst out of a red phonebox and straight into this song.

7) Did You Miss Me? - The Cooper Temple Clause: When working in a canteen while at university in 2001, I would arrive at 8am on Saturday morning (not a student-friendly time of the weekend), hook up my CD player and stick on my favourite album of the time, The Cooper Temple Clause's majestic debut See This Through and Leave. The opening keyboard refrain still helps perk me up on occasion, although I don't have an endless supply of bacon rolls and Coke on hand any more.

8) Death Trip 21 - Ash: In 1999, five of us from university went to Ireland for 10 days. These were the days of portable tape players, and my friends and I swapped compilation tapes. Strangely, the only track I can remember putting on mine is Death Trip 21 by Ash, from their Nu-Clear Sounds album. Hearing it now reminds me of the train ride from Belfast to Dublin.

9) In The Meantime - Spacehog: This song reminds me of the same holiday, as it was on the jukebox in the hostel we stayed in in Dublin. We were in the Irish capital in mid-April, but it was hammering down with snow for most of our time there. So we spent a lot of time in the hostel bar, and this song got a few airings during our stay.

10) Here, There and Everywhere - The Beatles: The first dance at our wedding. Mrs Wife had this on her list of potential first dances from her teenage years, and it was an easy choice to make. It also features in the episode of Friends where Phoebe gets married, played on a steel drum, but ours was the Fabs' version.

A True Story

As Mrs Wife will happily tell almost anyone, I frequently talk and wander about in my sleep.

Usually, or so I am told, these midnight disturbances are no more than a few muttered words before I turn over and fall back into a snore-filled slumber.

But occasionally, and usually when I am especially tired, I have been known to set off on mini expeditions, to engage Mrs Wife in lurid conversations or to imagine that I am in an unusual place or that there are unusual things in the bedroom.

For example, I once sat bolt upright in bed and informed Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) that there was a mouse in the room. Having delivered this unwelcome piece of news in a darkened room at 1am, I promptly lay back down and fell back into a deep sleep. From the report Mrs Wife gave me the next morning, it seems she was unable to do likewise for quite some time.

This animal fascination has reared its head again recently, as I now frequently wake in the middle of the night under the impression that Mrs Wife's rabbits, Dylan and Pepper, are scampering about in our bedroom.

At least this nocturnal intermission is based somewhat on facts - Dylan escaped from his cage a couple of weeks ago and feasted merrily on the tangle of wires and cables that lives behind our television. He was not a popular critter the morning that his handiwork was discovered.

But my finest hour in the exciting world of sleepwalking occurred while I was at university in 2002.

Myself and four others shared a five-bedroom flat on Edinburgh's Morningside Road, in a block in which the same person owned the two flats directly across the landing from each other. When we had been in our new home for several months, the owner announced that he would be refurbishing both, and that we would have to move across the hall for a few weeks while work took place in our flat.

For a week or so at the end of the renovations, we retained keys for both properties while we moved back into our own residence. And it is at this point that our story takes place.

After a night out in Edinburgh, I returned to the original flat and headed to bed.

Several hours later, I stirred, and found that I was feeling unusually cold. Opening my eyes, I discovered that I was in the bedroom in the other flat that I had lived in briefly during the renovations. I was lying on top of the brand new mattress on the brand new bed in that room, wrapped only in a plastic protective cover from the mattress and wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

With my confusion rapidly accelerating, I investigated further. I found that I was, not surprisingly, in the flat on my own, but that more surprisingly, all of the lights were on.

And so, having switched all the lights off, I shut the door behind me and padded across the cold hallway to our own flat. Where I found that the door was locked.

Unfortunately, I had also shut the door behind me as I left flat number two, locking me out of both properties.

I was cold. I was tired. I was confused. I was drunk.

And so, I took the only action left open to me and started banging furiously on the door to the flat, knowing that my four flatmates were inside.

Thankfully, I managed to wake one of my sleeping flatmates before any of the neighbours could call the police.

Bleary-eyed and, like me, wearing only boxers, my friend opened the door and stared in wonder at this vision before him.

"Mate, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I have no idea," was all I could say in response, "I'm going to bed."

And I did.

The next morning, I awoke with a pounding headache. Turning over, I could hear the sound of conversation coming from the sitting room.

"WHAT?!"

"Aye, standing on the doorstep waering just a pair of boxers!"

Not wishing to disappoint my audience, I ventured into the sitting room, where I was greeted with applause, laughter and a barrage of questions.

None of which I have ever been able to answer.

From The Dim and Distant Past

Today at work, the conversation turned to awkward interviewees that myself and other reporters had encountered in our professional careers.

Without a doubt, the most obnoxious person I ever interviewed was Bobby Williamson during his time as Hibs boss. He was a grumpy, ill-natured, torn-faced little neep of a man, and he deserved every single piece of abuse he received from the club's fans.

In stark contrast, his predecessor, Frank Sauzee, was one of the most charming, likeable people I've ever met.

Anyway, this conversation also saw me reminiscing about my days as a music journalist, and the great times I had interviewing bands including The Cooper Temple Clause, Terrorvision and South.

And this thought process reminded me that, for a short period after finishing university, I had my own ramshackle website devoted to reviewing music.

The idea was basically that I would be able to blag free CDs and gig tickets by agreeing to review them. And it worked pretty well.

I presumed that, after I lost interest in the site around five years ago, it would have been deleted.

But it hasn't. To this day, it's still sitting quietly on the dark fringes of the worldwide interweb, showcasing how pretentious I was at the point when I finished university.

And so, for your entertainment, here is a link to the site in all its non-showy glory.

What a shambles!

Eight More Things About Me

My favourite Fred Astaire-loving wiseass Jooette has tagged me with the Eight Fascinating Facts meme.

I've actually done this one before, but what's another eight facts between friends? So here are facts nine to 16:

1: The first football match I ever attended was a friendly between Brechin City and Rangers in 1990 or 1991 for Dougie Scott's testimonial. I think the score was 6-4 to Brechin. Ian Durrant scored a penalty and Mark Walters, Terry Hurlock and Colin Scott all played for Rangers.

2: I have eight Standard Grades, seven Highers, two Certificates of Sixth Year Studies and a Bachelor's degree in Journalism. Oh, and National Certificates in Art, Music and Keyboard Skills.

3: I've scored two goals in the Aberdeen Oil League this season. Our team hasn't won a match yet.

4: I collect Hurricane cocktail glasses from Hard Rock Cafes around the world. So far, my collection covers Rome, Sydney, Edinburgh, Madrid, Melbourne, Singapore, New York, Cancun, Paris, Kuala Sumper, Surfer's Paradise and Hollywood.

5: Wales is the only country in the British Isles that I've never been to. For some reason, it just doesn't appeal.

6: The first dance at my wedding was Here, There and Everywhere by The Beatles.

7: This year, I'm spending Xmas with Mrs Wife's parents for the first time before jetting off to Brussels for New Year.

8: I attended four different Primary Schools and one High School as a boy. My first school had several hundred pupils, my second had nine when I started and seven when I left, my third had three when I started and five when I left, and my fourth had 13 when I started and 11 when I left.

So, weren't those facts just scintillatingly exciting? I'm meant to tag eight more bloggers to play along, but I think everyone should play if they want to and ignore it if they don't.

Memories Are Made Of This

Dry, cold, cloudless winter nights like this evening remind me of childhood, staring up at the stars, the tingle of the cold air against my cheeks.

It's strange how one small thing can transport us to a different time or place. Any time I hear If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next by Manic Street Preachers, I am back in my bedroom in Napier University's Craiglockhart halls of residence during my first week of university.

The album from which the single was taken, This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours, was released on the Monday before I moved to Edinburgh, and it was on heavy rotation in my small shared room in those first few days away from home.

And so, even now, if I hear any of the tracks from that album, I can remember those exciting times when I went from living at home with Mither, Faither and Baby Brother, essentially being waited on hand and foot, to fending for myself, living on pasta, pizza and anything with cooking instructions on the packaging, drinking every day and spending every waking (and sleeping) hour in a five-floor building with 200 other 18-year-olds.

Now, more than nine years later, those songs still remind me of those first steps into life beyond the family home, Brechin and schooldays. I wonder what songs will remind me of being 27 when I reach 35?