I was walking through Westbourne Park on my way to work once when I saw a shaven headed woman in fluffy pink slippers and a Public Enemy t-shirt walking back from the post box at the end of the road.
"Hah! Sinead O'Connor," I laughed to myself, not having many bald female reference points beyond Lt. Ilia in Star Trek: The Motion Picture.
As walked past me, I realised it was Sinead O'Connor.
I bought this album some time earlier, from the secondhand racks of Vinyl Village in Barkingside. It was one of those albums I thought I should hear. After I'd heard it, I rarely returned to it. Not because it's bad - it isn't: I Am Stretched On Your Grave particularly sticks in my mind. Perhaps the more mass market appeal of this album over its predecessor put me off.
I saw Sinead a few more times. Once cycling along Talbot Road with her son on the back of her bike. Another time she beckoned me past as I waited for her to reverse her car out of her driveway.
And now I am beckoning this CD off the shelf and onwards to a new life.
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