EDITOR’S PERSPECTIVE: It only makes sense because I never called

It was an awful song, but at some point — all points, it seemed — in 1984 it dominated the charts. I was sick of hearing it.

I had discovered indie and post punk new wave and wasn’t going anywhere near such saccharine soaked schmaltz. Except I was.

I was upstairs on the bus, going to Keighley with the intention of visiting the several independent record stores that thrived for a good number of years, stocking the sort of stuff Woolworths didn’t.

I was also off to Woolies though. “If you’re anywhere near a record shop could you pop in and get me that Stevie Wonder song?”

It was my grandad. I couldn’t refuse. Or could I? I could maybe feign illness, miss the bus perhaps and save myself the embarrassment of buying said soppy nonsense.

The downside of that cunning plan was that it would mean not being able to spend my meagre savings on whatever was in the sales rack at Anagram Records or the other one I can’t remember the name of.

So, bus trip completed, I needed to form a plan of action. I could say they were out of stock, but that would be mean.

Maybe try “they were selling it for £8 and I wasn’t having you pay that much, grandad”. That would be a lie. And also mean.

Tactics then. Get the embarrassment of purchasing Wonder boy’s tune out of the way first, leaving me to enjoy the rest of my shopping? No, people might see it in the Woolies bag and laugh. Save it until last, thereby putting myself through a few hours of torture, delaying the big moment until just before the bus back.

The bus back! What if I saw someone I knew on the bus and they asked me what I’d bought?

“Got the second Clash album, haven’t I? And A Word To The Wise Guy by The Mighty Wah!”

“What’s in the Woolworths bag though?”

“Ah, that...”

Maybe I should just walk home.

I can’t remember how the day concluded but I know, as is the case with most things, I wouldn’t have made it easy for myself. I would have let the simple act of buying a song that someone else liked from a shop assistant I didn’t know, who didn’t give a flying one and wasn’t going to laugh when I asked for it — except at the fact I would have undoubtedly blushed a pretty deep shade of red — ruin my day.

In the end my grandad got his single — I’m not sure why he couldn’t go and get it himself — and I’m glad about that.

Over the years, after the death of my nan, he had increasingly retreated into himself, refusing to go out or interact, becoming grouchy, then forgetful, slightly aggressive, accusing people of things they hadn’t done.

It caused not so much a fall-out, but a stand off, without anyone really saying anything.

Eventually he died without me seeing him for the last couple of years of his life and the sentiments of that awful song made a little more sense.

“I just called to say I love you...”

Except I didn’t and I regret not taking heed of old Stevie Wonder’s song. But I least I bought it.