Like many other girls of my generation, I have long had a penchant for the indie boy. As a 16-year-old I spent many hours lamenting the fact that the bassist of 'insert name of NME's top-tip' was not, and probably never would, my husband. While I would like to think I have gained a little more of a sense of reality in the last 5 years, I am shamelessly still a fan.
You know the sort I mean: Jeans tighter than the grip of a serpent, eyes like a labrador and hair that looks like the foppish nesting place of small woodland creatures. Such stuff as dreams are made of. Despite my longing, I have found this adoration is rarely reciprocated, you see, I have never been cool.
I tried it. Once. A very long time ago. I used to have a cool beehive and wear cool evening dresses in the day time. I thought I looked like a nonchalant it-girl from a bygone era, whereas the reality was more, "aaw, did someone dress themselves today?"
Nevertheless, my quest to bag the somewhat elusive and always evasive indie boy has not ceased and the other day, I thought I had struck gold. I had popped into a local recored shop to buy my friend - far superior to me in the cool stakes - a birthday present.
As I walked in I spotted him. Standing by shoe gaze, oozing all the dishevelled charm my square little heart desires. I caught his eye and smiled. "World" I thought, "meet the man who will give me children." I was browsing northern soul when he edged his way up next to me. My mouth went dry and my hands turned into clams. Could this be the moment I finally bag the indie boy of my dreams? No, probably not..
"Is that your jam?" He asked, pointing to the Little Anthony and the Imperials 12 inch I had clasped in my clammy clam hand. At this point my brain decided to do that thing it often does of utterly ruining my life by providing me with something earth-shatteringly preposterous to say. In this instance it was, "no, mine is damson." And that was that, he laughed nervously and casually edged away.
Perhaps I will never be cool enough to find an indie boy for me. Perhaps it is just a little out of reach for a clumsy moomin-faced fool like myself. Then again, maybe indie boys just don't like jam.