The soundtrack of my childhood

My dad is a huge music lover. In our house it was more often music playing than the TV, and in my dad’s Mazda there was always a cassette tape on — unless the football results were being read out in that slow, monotone voice, or Simon Bates was delivering one of his devastating ‘Our Tune’ stories over the Romeo and Juliet love theme.If you grew up in the 90s you’ll know the feeling. Hearing that music produced the same sinking dread as the Casualty theme tune — the signal that all the good Saturday night television was over.Throughout my childhood I remember sitting in the car with my dad while he blasted his favourite songs on repeat.One year we took a disastrous family holiday to Wales. It was a particularly hot summer and before we set off on the four-hour drive my mum placed a bottle of full-fat milk in the boot so my brother — who had been breastfed longer than most humans — could also try cow’s milk as an option.Unfortunately, the entire bottle leaked.By the time we crossed the border into Wales the milk had soaked into the carpet of the boot and had possibly entered some kind of early cheese phase. The smell was so strong the air felt thick enough to chew. I’m fairly certain I put on a few pounds just from breathing it in.My dad, determined to keep morale high and focus on the road, decided the best solution was to play Tina Turner’s Simply the Best on repeat.Even now, when I hear those opening beats, my stomach turns slightly.As did the milk.I’d like to say that was what made the holiday a disaster, but unfortunate and mildly comedic mishaps seemed to follow us on most family holidays.Other songs instantly transport me back to car journeys with my dad. George Harrison’s I Got My Mind Set on You reminds me of sitting in the car eating rollmops straight from the plastic tub after swimming. Here Comes the Hotstepper was playing the day he dropped me at a birthday party.Then there was his version of I’m Horny, where he confidently replaced the word “horny” with “honey”. To this day I’m still not sure whether he was sparing us the embarrassment or genuinely believed that Mousse T were singing about honey.When I was about eight our hi-fi in the lounge was upgraded — a major household purchase and one that would provide the soundtrack to much of my childhood.My dad proudly installed a towering three-deck sound system. It had a radio, two cassette tape players, and — most impressively — an interchangeable CD player that could hold five discs at once and switch between them automatically.It lived in its own unit in the living room alongside a growing CD collection. Two large speakers stretched across the room on impossibly thin wires and flanked the armchair beside the system, creating a sort of surround sound experience — provided you were sitting in that exact chair.This was the system that blasted out Dr Fox on Sunday evenings so we could listen to the final Top Ten. I vividly remember my brother and I swinging each other around the room to Cotton Eye Joe one year.It was through this system that the Lighthouse Family soundtracked slow Sunday mornings, family parties were powered by Rod Stewart, Tina Turner and Lionel Richie, and one particular Christmas dinner was accompanied by Enya singing about Caribbean Blue.I never quite understood the festive connection, but it somehow made the meal feel oddly middle class.Slade returned the following year.One morning I walked downstairs to find my dad marching around the kitchen to Amarillo — the Peter Kay version — pausing only briefly at the kettle to pour me a cup of tea before continuing his lap of the room.It was an excellent way to start the day.Luckily, I had left home before his obsession with Neil Diamond truly kicked in.One strange summer my dad struck up a friendship with our neighbours two doors down. For fifteen years they had largely kept themselves to themselves. But over the garden fence one afternoon my dad heard the unmistakable opening of Sweet Caroline.The music was coming from the house of the man we all referred to as “the Woolworths man” — a nickname I’ve never fully understood. What I did know was that if a ball rolled onto his immaculate front lawn I would immediately run and hide in our porch before his angry face appeared at the door.But on this occasion, when my dad started loudly singing along over the fence, no angry face appeared.Instead there was a beaming smile and the music was turned up louder.Soon the two of them were singing together in perfect, enthusiastic unison.After that the neighbours and my parents went to several concerts together. My mum was always slightly in awe that they brought shop-bought M&S sandwiches on the coach trips rather than homemade ones.She couldn’t quite believe that someone who lived only two doors down could be that posh.Music does that though. It brings people together. It creates memories and friendships and moments that somehow stay with you forever.And sometimes all it takes is the opening beat of a song to take you straight back to childhood — to long car journeys, terrible holiday smells, and a dad turning the volume up far too loud.Which is why, whenever I hear Simply the Best, I don’t really think of Tina Turner.I think of my dad.And honestly — he really is.Simply the best.What song instantly takes you back to childhood?I’d love to hear it in the comments. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit toriecampbell.substack.com