The King

So, Elvis has been dead for 30 years.
Eeeeesh!
Don’t worry, I’m not going to get all teary and wistful, but something hit me with a fucking great thwack today.

This is my thwack upside the head.
Can you remember when you were a kid, listening to your Mum talk about stuff that happened 25 years ago?
I’d think, ‘Fuck me! That’s longer than I’ve been alive, how the hell does she remember this shit and why?’
Well, I can remember something that happened 30 years ago.
I’ve turned into Her.
Thwack!
I’m fucking old!

What’s worse, it’s gone ‘dry’ again and has been for a few weeks.
This means that my memory is starting to work properly and I don’t fucking like it.
If it wasn’t ‘dry’ I would NOT instantly know I was alive when ‘The King’ had that last perch on the throne.
Usually, I’d have to remember what year I was born and see if the date came after that.
Today, horrifically, I could recall everything, instantly.

My Grandmother and ATM sat on the edge of a bed crying their eyes out.
Asking what was wrong, being told.
Then wondering what the fuck THEY were crying for.
Looking at my Grandfather, who rolled his eyes to Heaven, nodded at the door and got us the hell out of there.
He spent a lot of that day shaking his head and finding stuff for us to do outside the house.
He was my King that day.

I’m also convinced that more people know the words to an Elvis song than they do their National Anthem.
I know all the verses to an embarrassing number of his tunes.
I know one verse of G-d Save the Queen.