serenade

Once upon a many moons ago, a young boy threw stones at my young girl's window and woke me up to singing in my front garden. It was Valentine's day, and he'd written me a song. He stood on Castletown Drive with his guitar in one hand and his heart in the other, as I curled up against the glass in my nightie. Mrs Brady next door was no doubt cursing his wavering falsetto as she tossed in her bed. But if only she'd had a digital camera, if only digital cameras had existed back then, she could have made herself a tidy sum by now and cleaned up on YouTube. Because my late night crooner and wooer of young girls has since wooed the world with his heartfelt tunes, and has just produced this - a whole new bunch of songs to listen to in my nightie.