On Saturday night in the bar of my local (and just after I’d stated to the whole bar that no-one under the age of 40 ever drinks there) the door opened and two young girls came in.
They weren’t total strangers, in fact one of them worked in the pub a few years ago, they were two sisters out for the night who’d abandoned the lounge because it was too quiet and were hoping for a bit more life in the bar.
And that’s what they got, ending up in a sing-song with some of the patrons. The younger of the two, although she’s 28 and so was born in 1982 (God I feel old), confessed to loving 1950s music and sang some songs from that era. One of the songs she sang was Bobby’s Girl.
Bobby’s Girl is the kind of song that normally just burbles away merrily in the background if, say, RTE1 or BBC Radio 2 is on in a shop that you’re visiting, so I’d never really listened to the words before. Apparently the singer (now that she’s not a kid any more) each night sits at home, hoping Bobby will phone, because there’s just one thing she’s waiting for. And that’s to be (pum, pum) Bobby’s girl.
And if that happens (which I doubt, Bobby sounds like the kind of bloke who’d recognise a bunny-boiler when he sees one), well, what a faithful, thankful girl she’ll be.
There you go. That’s a popular 1950s song for you.
Can’t see Pink or Lily Allen writing a song like that today, can you?