I watched the movie “Fisherman’s Friends” this evening – about the group of Cornish fisherman that recorded an album of sea shanties a few years ago, that unexpectedly stormed the charts.
I’m not ashamed to admit there were more than a few tears. I swear – as I get older, movies have found out all of my keys. It can be the smallest of human interactions within a story – and yet I find myself quietly falling apart.
From the “Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society”, to “This Beautiful Fantastic”, and now “Fisherman’s Friends” – movies seem to have found all the keys to undo me.
I’m not listening to the fishermen singing now – honest – I might have been a few minutes earlier though. At the moment, while sitting in the dark of the junk room, Don Henley is singing “In a New York Minute”.
I’m writing this after jumping down an internet rabbit hole with my eldest daughter – telling her the story of Blondie forming a punk band in New York, and being picked up by a record label without knowing how to sing a note or play an instrument. I played her “Union City Blue” as an example of the “finished product”, and got told off for turning the volume up too loud.
Yes, my 19 year old daughter told me off for playing Blondie too loud.