There is a running joke in this house that my husband looks like Bruce Springsteen. I mean he doesn’t. But actually sometimes he sort of does. it was this photo that made me think of it.
Giles is a tiny bit worried about being 47, so I was like – look at Bruce Springsteen! He’s dark, too – exactly your height, big muscles. No reason why you can’t look like that at 104 or however old he is.
Anyway the other day, as part of this running joke, Giles saw in a bookshop and bought for me Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography, which is absolutely brilliant. Brilliant. I can’t believe that he didn’t use a ghostwriter it’s so good. Though in fact it’s too good to have been ghosted because it’s so peculiar in parts, so self-effacing and funny – it’s impossible to ghost that kind of idiosyncrasy.
Here he is, talking about dancing with girls as a teenager.
“The poor souls who comprised most of my catholic male colleagues didn’t yet realise that GIRLS LOVE TO DANCE! So much that they’ll get on the dance floor with just about any geek who’s got a few moves. That geek was ME! I had a ridiculous assortment of gyrations copped and exaggerated from the dances of the day. The Monkey, the Twist, the Swim, the Jerk, the Pony, the Mashed Potato – I mixed them all up into a stew of my own that occasionally got me on the floor with some of the finest women in town.”
I love it, I love every word. You don’t need to know anything about or like his music – or any music – to fully enjoy this.