Entry for 8th July, 2008

How annoying woulf it be if you actually were the girl called Kayleigh off the Marillion record of that name?
I mean, the song is clearly autobiographical, and I'm fairly sure that the girl is not actually called "Kayleigh", but nevertheless she knows who she is. There was only one girl who danced in stilletoes in the snow wasn't there? She remembers her cold feet and she knows who she is.
So - instead of the usual heartache of a break-up (you know - two weeks listening to your old Smiths albums; four weeks being an utter pain in the arse with your best friends; three months getting off with unsuitable people) this particular girl woke up one morning to Radio 1 playing the break up record to end all break up records. Your ex - the front man for a relatively obscure progressive rock outfit - has uncharacteristically penned a modern classic. Previously "the words just never seemed to flow" but bugger me the big man's suddenly got over the writer's block big style.
And there's only two options in a break up aren't there? Either your heart is shattered into a million tiny pieces, in which case the hit record on the radio is going to be like a knife in your heart every time you hear it in the elevator at The Hilton. Or you think your ex is a total tosser, in which case the thought of him retiring on a three minute ditty about his fetish for high heels on frosty pavements is likely to throw you into teeth-grinding rage for the rest of your life.
Closure? I don't think so.