I'm experimenting in a world without Spotify at the moment (likely short lived, I fear but that's another story). Apple Music is getting to know me little by little, and I actually don't skip that much anymore. But it made an odd left turn as I walked home from the supermarket tonight: "My Old School" by Steely Dan came on out of nowhere after a run of Alien Ant Farm to Tool to Rage Against the Machine's "Vietnow". For those of you whose taste in music comes from the current century, or even the last 50 years, that's a well-paced rising power level reaching some reasonably high energy stuff, suddenly stepping down to pretty much the definition of chilled in the space of a fade-out.

It was jarring for an instant, but as with all things Steely Dan or Fleetwood Mac, it only takes an instant to settle into the mood of the song and I was perfectly happy with the change of gear. Maybe even sauntered to it a little. It made me wonder how often RATM - probably my most played artist for any given week for several years - gets edged out by gentler voices these days? Apple seems to think in a ratio of 1 in 4...

And does a slowdown in what I listen to map to a slowdown more generally?

I regularly think back to a conversation with one of my dearest friends, AS, in the early days of planning this life. He lives in Belfast now, with a squadron of energetic boys and a wife whose capture will always, I think, remain his crowning achievement¹. We've not been in the same room for more than a decade. Much too long.

Back then we were the stragglers, left in Blighty when most of the others had moved back home. Once a week before work we would seek out one of the rare handful of flat whites in those dark ages of London. Sam and I had a ten-year plan then, to dump out of the rat-race and get away. AS shook his head and told me that in ten years I would want different things. How could I commit so hard to such a wildly alternative ideal life that I might outgrow before it arrives?

I'm glad² to say that, 20 years later and 10 of them on the road, I'm still living in my happy place every day. Maybe Apple Music knows something I don't, and sure the aches and pains aren't getting any quieter, but right now I don't see an end in sight. I need to make the trip to Belfast to share it with you. I'm overdue a dose of your wisdom.

I spent the weekend just past with another long missed and much beloved friend, KB, from the same circle of university chums. She lives in Brisbane, but was passing through Vienna en route to a work conference and we seized the opportunity for a much-more-glamorous-than-we-are fly-in visit. In a day and a half of overlap we did little more than drift from coffee shop to strudel shop and back, chatting the time away. It left me with an autumn cold more vicious than any I can remember, but I wouldn't trade it for anything - not even those 90s nightclubs.³

KB's mum had dug out a photo of us both in our first year of Uni, kitted out in Black Tie for a ball. It brought a delighted if slightly wry smile. She, of course, was radiant in the perfection of youth, but I am awkward in formal clothes. Increasingly so: no suit has ever improved me, and a bow tie positively ridicules. It didn't work at 20, so I must be thankful that I've reached a point where the future seems deeply unlikely to ever include another tuxedo.

So what is this rambling photo-free post about anyway? Nothing really. But if you've read this far then you might as well throw on some (post-Motown) Stevie Wonder and call someone from your youth. Not a text, a real phone call. I'm sure you'll be pleased you did both.