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Thursday, 10 October 2013

Nativity of Kirsty MacColl (1959)

When a talented, clever, feisty, brilliant woman dies at the age of 41, you gasp at the waste of life. You rejoice in the life, spirit and wit she showed. You celebrate the good stuff and pray for those she left behind.

She had all the cutting edge, sadness and sweetness - like a bitter-sweet cider apple.

An empty bench in Soho Square... no more to say.

View from an empty bench


Except.... "I was 21 years when I wrote this song, I'm 22 now but I won't be for long...."


Still looking for a new England.

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